Letters of Hate
by HardyBoyz4Eva
Summary: Dean/Seth/Roman, ?/Seth. Seth is recieving anonymous letters telling him that Dean and Roman don't actually love him and that he means nothing to them. Eventually, he starts to believe them. And when an outsider sees him, alone and vulnerable, he decides it is time to make his move. Slash. Please Review!
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

_You're a filthy little slut. Dean and Roman couldn't care less whether you lived or died. You're filthy. You're worthless. And by the time you realize that neither of them could ever love you, it would be too late. If you disappeared, who would care? Certainly not them. You're a wanton little whore, Seth. You've been used and you've been destroyed. Nobody wants you anymore, so why are you still here? Nobody cares…_

Seth's hands trembled as he crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it into the trashcan. "You okay in there, Seth? Last time I checked, it didn't take forty-five minutes to take a shower."

Seth dried his eyes with the back of his hand, not even realizing that he had started to cry. "Yeah… um, I'm fine. Just give me a minute or two, okay? I nicked myself with the shaver."

Roman rolled his eyes, chuckling blandly. "Poor little Seth, crying because he cut himself with the shaver." He rolled his eyes, amused by the idea of it.

Pissed off, Seth stormed out of the bathroom. "Fuck off, Roman!" He threw his toothpaste in the older man's direction. "And you too, Dean. Both of you can rot in fucking hell!"

It was Dean's turn to look confused. "What crawled up your ass and died?"

"Nothing. I just want you to leave me the fuck alone!" The door to the bathroom slammed closed behind him.

Seth stared at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his multicolored locks. He had found that note in his locker room after he had come back from the 3-on-1 handicap match on the last Raw of the 2012 year. He didn't know who had written it, but it was obvious that their intention was to hurt him. Was it true, what they had said? Was it true that Roman and Dean wouldn't care whether he lived or died?

Turning on the water, he splashed some onto his face. The dark eyeliner that circled his eyes ran down his cheeks and colored the tear tracts that stained them. His hands trembled. The nerves overwhelmed him, or maybe it was the numerous head-shots that he had taken in the match, but he fell down in front of the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. Dean heard and started to knock on the door once more.

"C'mon, Seth! What's the matter? We can hear you in there." The worry in Dean's voice was obvious.

"Seth, open the door _now_." Roman's calm monotone washed over the room.

Seth wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. Tears streamed from his eyes as he glared at the door, in no mood to deal with his two lovers. "Leave me _alone_!"

"Don't be like that, Seth. We just want to help you." Dean pleaded.

"I don't want to put up with anymore of your shit! Just leave me the fuck alone, both of you!" Seth screamed.

Dean and Roman shared a look, before they nodded. "Okay, Seth. If that's what you want. But we _will_ talk about this." Roman muttered lowly.

And as they walked away, he unrolled the note and read it one more time, breaking down into another fit of sobs.


	2. Striking Out

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

When Seth finally left the bathroom, he found both of his lovers knocked out on the queen-sized bed. Roman had obviously made it to the bed first, as he took up the most room. But that could also be because the ex-football player had two or three inches on the other men and actually _needed_ the extra room. Dean had landed on the far side of the bed, closest to the bathroom. And, like always, there was a hole between them for Seth.

Normally, Seth could hardly wait to climb in between them. Roman was like a human heater. Heat radiated off of his body and somehow, Seth always ended up wrapped around his body in the morning. And then there was Dean, who almost always ended up on the floor because Roman would stretch out and Seth would unwind from the Samoan's body, only to shove Dean off of the side of the bed. Dean never complained, however.

It was unique, the love that they shared. It was such a rarity to hear the words 'I love you' between them that some would question if there actually _was_ love there. But the three members of The Shield found that actions spoke louder than words. For example, when Roman didn't kill Seth the first time that he had cuddled him in his sleep. Or rushing to the defense of whichever member was under attack. It was the little stuff.

Seth stared at the hole between them momentarily, the want that he felt indescribable. But he couldn't force himself to do it. It scared him how much he relied on the two men in the bed, and he couldn't help but think back to _what if the letter was true_. What if they didn't really love him? What if all of this was one elaborate hoax to tear him apart after he had already endured so much? Could they really hurt him like that?

Dean's eyes fluttered. The creak of the bathroom door must've awakened him. "Seth?" He slurred, drunk with sleep. "C'mon baby, it's time for bed." He patted the hole between himself and Roman slowly.

Seth's dark eyes flickered between Dean and Roman, who was still knocked out cold. That man could sleep through an explosion. "I need some fresh air. I think that I'm gonna take a walk."

Dean frowned. "At this hour? Seth, you were in the bathroom for three hours. It's two o' clock in the morning. Do you know what kind of crazy fucks roam the streets at two o' clock in the morning on New Year's Day?"

Seth smiled ruefully. "And what would they want with me, huh? I'm not exactly the first place trophy, in case you never noticed." He started to slide into his jacket.

"Where is this coming from, Seth? You're not like this." Dean was worried now. He made to get out of bed, but Seth fixed him with a fiery glare. "Is this about what was upsetting you earlier?"

"Can't we talk about this later? I don't want to deal with it now." Seth sighed. He should've known better than to think that Dean would let him just walk out like nothing was wrong.

"No. We can talk about this _now_." Dean hissed. "Seriously, Seth. What the fuck is the matter with you? One minute you're fine, happily bashing away at Ryback's skull, and the next, your sobbing and puking in the bathroom."

"I'm fine." But he didn't even believe himself.

"God, Seth, if you were a woman I'd think you were pregnant or something." Dean huffed out.

Seth felt tears start to well in his eyes. But he couldn't allow Dean the satisfaction of seeing him cry. "Well, I guess you're glad that I'm not. You wouldn't want to have babies that are as fucked up as I am."

Dean fell silent, unable to comprehend what had caused such a drastic change in Seth. Seth had always been a little emotional. He had a tolerance for pain like you wouldn't believe and got off on it like the Joker did on bloody murder. It was suffice to say that Seth had never been 'normal', and, truly, he wasn't sure that he _wanted_ Seth to be normal. If he was normal, well… he just wouldn't be Seth anymore.

Hurriedly, Seth collected the rest of his stuff. He hadn't anticipated this little spat with Dean and now he felt worse than he had before. Would it really be so bad if he _could_ have children? There was a chance that they'd turn out okay. His hands started to tremble again as he threw his duffel bag over his shoulder. A few tears leaked from his eyes, but he hid them behind the fan of his hair. He felt miserable and he couldn't imagine that he looked much better.

"Can't we talk about this in the morning, Seth? Roman needs to rest and you know he'll have both of our asses if we wake him up. Just come to bed, and -," but Seth cut him off.

"No, I don't want to hear it. For all I care, Reigns can take his bitchiness and shove it up his ass." Seth ran a trembling hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down. "I just need some fresh air, that's all."

"And what am I supposed to do if you don't come back? Don't be selfish, Seth."

Red bled before Seth's eyes. "I cannot believe that you just said that."

"What? That you're being selfish?" Dean rolled his eyes. "When have I been in the business of lying to you, babe?"

"I don't know. I just don't know anymore." He started toward the door. What he _did_ know was that Dean hadn't lied when it came to Roman – he was a real_ bitch_ to wake up in the morning. "Don't wait up for me."

Seth slammed the door closed behind him. Dean knew better than to push the issue. He flopped down on the bed, hesitantly casting a look toward his bedmate. But Roman hadn't moved. He was still out cold, one arm strewn across his forehead, the other thrown over Seth's pillow. Dean sighed. It wouldn't do him any good to stress over the matter now. So he closed his eyes, but sleep did not come easily.

* * *

_I see the last letter wasn't enough of a warning for you, huh, Seth? I can assure you that I won't be so nice the second time around. Do they know the truth, Seth? Do they hold you down, just like you like it? I bet you're too ashamed to tell them, because you know what they'll do. They'll laugh and they'll throw it right back in your face. They don't love you. They'd rather hurt you then see you happy. Just watch it all unfold, Seth. You'll soon see for yourself. But by then, it'll be too late…_

Seth tore the note off of the hotel room door, disgusted. Angrily, he stuffed it into his pocket and stormed inside. Roman and Dean sat on the bed, half-eaten breakfast sandwiches from Subway on the bed. Dean acknowledged him with a steely look, while Roman didn't even bother to look up at all. Seth was used to that. Roman was the least vocal member of The Shield, after all, and it was no different at home.

Dean slid off of the bed and fixed the smaller man with a glare. "So, I see that you finally decided to come back. What the hell were you thinking, Seth? Do you _like_ making us worry about you?"

"Like you two assholes are capable of worry." Seth flipped him off. He started to make his way back to the bathroom, but Roman grabbed his wrist. He could feel the bones grind as he held on a little too tightly.

"Don't." Roman warned lowly. His eyes locked with Seth and Seth felt all of the air leave his lungs.

"Let go of me." Seth narrowed his eyes at his older lover. "I haven't done anything to you. This is between Dean and I."

Roman growled. "You need to calm the fuck down, blondie. You don't get to waltz out of here at two o' clock in the fucking morning and think everything is going to be dandy when you come back."

"I'll say it one more time." Seth frowned. "Let me go. _Now_."

Roman looked at him seriously, before he smirked. "Are you trying to threaten me?"

"It's not a threat. It's a promise." And then, drawing his free hand back, he struck Roman across the face.


	3. The Break Up

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

Roman's eyes flashed. A fury that Seth had never seen before flared in the older man's eyes. It was then that Seth realized he had crossed the line. Not that he actually cared. After all, if the two men that he had devoted most of his adult life to didn't care about _him_, then why should he care about them? But before he could react, Roman was on him. The Samoan had tackled him to the floor and his hands were imbedded in his two-toned hair. Punches landed without care. A knee to the stomach there. A slap to the head. And Seth felt none of it.

It wasn't that he was numb to it, per se. Quite the opposite, actually. He could feel every blow as if Roman had reached into his chest and took hold of his still-beating heart, held it in his hand, and crushed it slowly and methodically. By numb, it could be implied that he just didn't care anymore. Roman could hurt him as much as he liked, it wouldn't make a difference. The slap that he had administered to Roman's face said more than words ever could. He wouldn't blindly follow them anymore. There was _truth_ in those letters. He just _knew_ it.

"Roman!" There was obvious frustration and confusion in Dean's voice. He put a hand on Roman's shoulder and yanked the bigger man off of Seth. "What the hell are you thinking? You keep on like that and you'll kill him!"

Roman swallowed hard. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, not surprised to find a smear of red there. "The little bastard knows better than to slap me across the face. If anything, you should be asking him what the hell _he_ was thinking?!"

"He's in a compromised emotional state. Giving him a concussion won't answer any questions." Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "You okay there, Seth?" There wasn't an answer. "Seth?"

Roman rolled his eyes, slipping out of his sweaty shirt and throwing it on the laundry pile. "Just leave Mr. Dreamer alone. He'll come out of his slump eventually…" Roman trailed off, his attention elsewhere.

But Dean didn't listen to him. Instead, he gently kicked the smaller man in the side. "Seth, man, c'mon. You had us worried sick. Why don't you stand up and we can talk about this like -,"

Before he could finish his statement, Seth had turned on him. The fist flew through the air and struck Dean across the face; drawing a thin stream of blood from the corner of his mouth and making him stumble back. When the backs of his knees struck the bed, he fell down to his knees. Seth didn't even hesitate to throw himself on the older man. He wasn't dumb. He knew for a fact that he couldn't take on Roman in hand-to-hand combat, but Dean on the other hand…

He took Dean by the hair and started to bash his head against the wooden bedframe. Dean let out a rather unmanly squeak as he reached for Seth's arms, trying to pry the smaller man off of him. But, in the end, it was useless. Seth's erratic movements only ceased when black dots started to seep into the corner of his vision. And then, Seth was on his feet. He landed kick after kick to Dean's midsection. He beat Dean bloody, and the attack only ended when Roman took hold of him and threw him off.

Seth tumbled back, but he didn't make it far. As soon as he was able to right himself on his feet, he threw himself back at Dean. He would have made it, too, had it not been for Roman's body. It acted like a shield for the smaller man as he stumbled to his feet, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth and spitting some out from a tooth that had chipped. When their eyes met, Dean's were filled with disbelief and confusion. All he had wanted to do was help the other man. And what was the thanks that he received? He could barely stand!

"What the fuck was that, Seth? And I don't want any shit this time. I want you to tell me the truth." Dean hissed. It was hard to look intimidating with a steady stream of blood flowing from your mouth, however. "What the hell has you so upset?"

"Nothing." Seth mumbled under his breath. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

Roman narrowed his eyes at the two-toned man. "Don't lie, Seth. You're already in hot water. Don't make it worse."

"Who died and made you the boss of me?" Seth hissed.

Roman looked as if he were about to attack again. Dean held him back. "Seth, this act has to end. I just want to know what the problem is so that I can fix it. But if you refuse to let me help you, then we'll be stuck in the offensive."

"You don't want to know what the problem is. You don't _care_ what the problem is. You hate me, I know it. But you know what? I hate you _more_." Seth hissed, willing every word to hurt just as much as the words in the letters hurt him.

Roman remained mostly unaffected, but that was to be expected. Roman wasn't exactly known for wearing his heart on his sleeve. But Dean was much more expressive. His face crumpled and his eyes flickered with a million different emotions. It was clear that he didn't know what he had done to cause Seth such distress. He didn't know what he had done to make Seth think that he 'hated' him. But it must have been something big, because now Seth hated _both_ of them. That had never happened before.

"Nothing to say now, Dean?" Seth mocked rudely. "Good." He stormed past the two men and started to collect the rest of his stuff. He stuffed it all into his suitcase and started back toward the door. "Don't bother to come find me. It won't make a difference anyhow."

* * *

It was the first RAW of the New Year. The Shield had just intervened in the WWE Title match between CM Punk and Ryback, resulting in CM Punk retaining his title and cementing his match with The Rock at the Royal Rumble. After the encounter, the three members of Shield walked into the back to get changed. Dean and Roman went to their dressing room (which used to house all three members of Shield), and Seth went across the hall to the private locker room that he had requested.

"Seth?" Dean tried, hoping that he wouldn't get a door slammed in his face. "Are you sure that you don't want to talk about this? We both made mistakes, I know that. But… But I'm sure that we can move past all of that."

Roman threw his hair back away from his face. There was an obvious conflict in his eyes. Never one to be the hopeless romantic type, he offered, "Seth, don't be an idiot."

Dean punched him on the shoulder. He shot him a dark look. "We don't want to scare him off, Roman."

"What, do you want me to lie to him? He's acting like an idiot. Don't be a child, talk about it like a man."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, like you're the most approachable person to talk to! When you're not ready to beat someone to a bloody pulp, you don't speak for hours! I'm sure it would be _so_ easy for him to approach you!"

Roman frowned. "Do you have a _problem_ with my personality?"

"Come to think of it: yes, I do. But we'll talk about that later." Dean turned back to Seth. "Seth, _please_ talk to us?"

Seth's hand closed around the doorknob. His eyes flashed with anger and frustration, before he bluntly shook his head and slammed the door closed. "Not a chance in hell, Dean. Not a chance in hell."

Unfortunately, when he closed the door, he found a white slip of paper taped to the back of the door. Immediately, he knew what it was. It was another one of those hateful letters. It was the reason that he wouldn't head back to the hotel room and crawl into bed between his two lovers. If he could, he would have torn the paper to shreds and thrown it into the fire. But like a train wreck, he just couldn't look away. Unable to help himself, he took hold of the paper and tore it off of the door.

_Well, I see that you finally broke it off with them. I have to say that I'm impressed. I didn't think that you had it in you. But don't think that your little stunt from earlier will be allowed to go unpunished. You're still a bitch, whether you have a master or not. And I'll make sure that you remember your place. You will submit to me, Seth. You will submit because you _have_ to submit. And when you realize that, I'll be there waiting for you. Until then, remember how it feels to know that nobody loves you, nobody wants you, and you're all alone…_


	4. A Talk With Phil

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

Phil Brooks may not have been associated with The Shield when it came to the WWE Title, but outside of the squared circle, he considered Seth Rollins to be one of his closest friends. And, really, he didn't have too many of them after some of the stunts that he had pulled to keep that title around his waist. He had come to admire the man's talent when he was on NXT, and when he had won, the admiration had become a sort of fondness. And when Phil became the new leader of Nexus, he realized just how much of an asset Seth was.

As for Seth, that admiration was mutual. He had seen the evolution of CM Punk and had come to appreciate his determination to knock down the fourth wall. His unorthodox methods were meant to be respected. That one word, of course, had been what had sold Phil on the younger athlete. Respect. Both men pined for it. However, the respect that each man desired was on a very different level and had come about for very different reasons. This, of course, was the reason that Seth had come to Phil's hotel room. Respect.

Seth knocked on the door a few times, unsure of what else to do. It was late and, while he knew that Phil was an insomniac, he could also be incredibly volatile if he was woken from a deep sleep. "Who is it?" A hoarse voice rumbled from inside.

Seth's heart fell. Phil sounded so much like Roman when he was half-asleep, it almost hurt. "It's Seth. I'm sorry to come by so late, but I need someone to talk to…" he trailed off after that, silently cursing his own weakness.

The door cracked open. Phil peered out, and for a second, their eyes met. "It's late, kid. Shouldn't you be in bed?" He asked, before he broke off into a yawn. When Seth didn't answer, Phil frowned. "Well?"

"I… actually, I… I don't have a bed to sleep in." He forced a weak smile, his stomach churning as he remembered the physical altercation that he had had with Dean and Roman… well, mostly Roman. "I broke up with Dean and Roman earlier this week."

"Over the letters?" Phil asked. Seth nodded meekly, forcing the tears back. There was no way that he would allow himself to cry in front of his former leader. "Okay, kid. C'mon inside and show me what the latest one says."

Immediately, Seth obeyed. As soon as Seth was inside the hotel room, Phil shut and locked the door. Seth didn't really blame him. Phil had taken a lot of heat for his recent heel turn. Everywhere he turned, someone wanted to bite his head off. It made sense that he would be a little anxious. Seth would be anxious too if a monster like Ryback wanted his ass. But, when he went out to face the monster, he knew that Dean and Roman had his back. Phil, on the other hand, was utterly alone.

Phil took a diet Pepsi out of the mini-fridge, before he turned to Seth. "You want something." He continued to rattle off the contents of the mini-fridge, which held everything from little bottles of water to cans of Fresca.

"I'll take a bottle of water." Seth said. Phil reached way into the back and pulled a bottle out, before he tossed it to his friend. Seth caught it easily and unscrewed the cap. "Thanks, man."

Phil slid into the seat across from him and unscrewed the lid on his Pepsi. "So, tell me, what is it about this newest letter that has you so upset?" Phil knew the story from start to finish and, to be honest, was just as scared as Seth was.

Seth took it out and passed it across the table so that Phil could read it. "I broke up with them on New Year's Day. I know for a fact that almost the entire roster, save The Shield and you, were drunk or out drinking. Yet somebody found out."

"It could have just been obvious. You _have_ been acting differently around them lately." Phil pointed out.

"You think so?" Seth asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, if looks could kill…" he trailed off as he continued to read.

His face was deathly pale as he finished reading the letter. With a sigh, he tossed it down onto the table and rubbed at his tired, swollen eyes. He reached forward, unscrewed the lid on his Pepsi, screwed it back on, and then just stared at the table in total bewilderment. Phil was an extremely intelligent man, but it was obvious that this stalker, of sorts, was always one step ahead of them. It was almost scary how he knew stuff that even their closest friends weren't aware of yet.

How did this man (or woman, for that matter) know that Seth had broken it off with his boyfriends? How did they know that he had insecurities about the way that he looked? How did they know that he had been in a bad relationship before? This wasn't the kind of information that you found on Wikipedia. Someone would have to have a constant, in-depth look at your life. They would have to follow you everywhere, to the point of knowing how to access your hotel room, your locker room… _everything_. Seth _should_ be scared.

After a moment, Phil was finally able to form words. "Did you tell Dean and Roman about the letters?" Phil asked. "I know that you're not on the best of terms with them, but you could use more people in your corner. More people that know."

"But I _can't_ tell them." Seth countered. "I don't even know if I can _trust_ them anymore." He stared down at the table and, much to his dismay, the first tear rolled down his cheek. "I got into a fight with them and almost knocked Dean out."

Phil's eyes widened, but he tried not to let this sway him. "What was it about?" He asked.

"It was over something stupid. It was so stupid that I don't even remember it." Seth said softly.

Phil knew that that was a lie, but he didn't push it. "Okay." He said softly. "All I can recommend is that you show these letters to Vince."

Seth's eyes widened. "What? No! I couldn't do that…" He trailed off uncertainly.

"Why not?" Phil asked, honestly intrigued.

"You and I both know that wrestlers like us are little more than liabilities. Vince can't trust us as far as he can throw us. If I showed these to him, he'd think that they were a hoax. He wouldn't take me seriously." Seth whined.

"Would you like some dinner with your whine?" Phil rolled his eyes. "Yes, I see your point. So Vince is out of the question. And Dean and Roman are too, because of some fight that you had that you don't even remember."

"Correct." Seth nodded firmly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil saw a slim, white envelope slid under the door. His heart sank when he realized what it was. Even now, this insane man that had left all of these letters had managed to find Seth. Reminding himself of the fact that he had locked the door and checked it twice, he slid the letter across the table. Seth took it and folded it into a little square, before he tucked it into his shirt pocket. He looked around nervously, like someone would come from the darkness and attack him.

"I have a spare bed that you can use tonight, okay? I don't want you to have to spend the night by yourself." Phil said. "We'll worry about this mess after the Royal Rumble, okay?" He asked.

Seth nodded. "Yeah. I don't want to worry about it too much. I'll worry myself sick." Seth chuckled weakly. He sounded sick to his stomach. And he couldn't help but think: _I hope I make it to the Royal Rumble._

* * *

_You think that you can hide from me? Seth, I __always__ know where you are. There isn't a moment when I don't know you're exact whereabouts. In fact, you're almost a little too predictable, Seth. You like to sleep in late, curled in-between your lovers. Or, rather, your ex-lovers. And then, you'll head downstairs to the hotel gym and work out for an hour. After that, breakfast. And then, like a love-sick puppy, you'll follow you're two men around – sorry, the two men that __used__ to be yours – until your horny and desperate and begging them to take you to bed._

_I have a theory. Would you care to enlighten me? Who was better in bed? Was it Roman? I bet he's a real little man in bed. He makes up for it in the ring, certainly, but that doesn't help when it comes to matters between the sheets. And Dean, well, it doesn't really matter how hung he is, he doesn't seem like he would share well. But that leaves you. You're a natural born submissive, Seth. You were born to be dominated. And I can't wait to see you submit to me. It won't take long for me to break you, I'm sure of it._

A tremor shot down Seth's spine as he sat on The Shield's tour bus. Dean and Roman sat on the other side of the bus, playing a casual game of strip poker. Of course, under normal circumstances, Roman would never play strip poker. That was why Dean had slipped a little rum into his Coke and, after the third glass, Roman was butter in his hands. A drunken Roman was also easy prey. Dean was winning by a long shot. Roman was down to his boxers and his military-esque boots. Dean had lost his shirt.

Vince didn't know about their break-up, and even if he did, he wouldn't really care. He didn't exactly endorse homosexual relationships in the WWE. It wasn't like they could ever come out to the world and put it on posters, sell it on pay-per-views, or the like. So long as it didn't interfere with their work, he didn't care what went on behind closed doors. It was only when it started to interfere with their ability to wrestle that he was forced to step in and fire someone. Usually, they would move to TNA. That was what had happened to Jay and Adam.

Somehow, someone had found out about their threesome. And, as much as Seth didn't like Dean and Roman right now, it didn't mean that he wanted to sit around and let someone talk trash about the two men that he loved more than anything else in the world. His hands trembled as he crumpled the note into a ball and tossed it on the floor. He wouldn't allow the sick bastard the satisfaction. He only wanted to get under his skin, right? So, that meant that the best course of action was to just ignore him.

"You okay over there, Seth?" Dean asked, not taking his eyes off of Roman as he slid out of his boots and his socks. Seth couldn't look over, because if he did, he would be the slut that everyone apparently thought that he was.

"Hmm…." Roman grunted, unable to say much more as he downed another rum-and-coke. His eyes were hazed over and Seth wondered if he had tipped the drink a little heavier toward the alcohol.

"I'm fine." Seth mumbled softly, burying his face in his hands. "I just want to be left alone, okay? Ogle at Roman for a while." Seth said. He couldn't hold back the tears that trickled from his eyes.

Dean didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "Okay. But we're here if you need to talk. Or, we will be, as soon as Roman sobers up…" Dean frowned as he watched Roman fall unconscious over his cards.

"I don't." When, deep down, all he really wanted was for them to take him in their arms and hold him.


	5. Attacked

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

It was the last RAW before the Royal Rumble, and Phil had called The Shield down so that he could confront them about their attacks on Ryback and Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. He made it clear that he wanted them to keep their distance and not interfere in his main event title match. The chair that he brandished was a silent warning. It was unlikely that it could hurt any one of the men, but just the fact that it was there made them wary.

The Shield had taken the hint. Without so much as a word in their defense, they abandoned the ring apron and made their way back over the barricade. A bombardment of 'boos' followed them. When the show cut to commercial, Phil made his way to the back. When the screams of the crowd fell away, he was assaulted with the curses of the fragmented members of The Shield. Seth was the first to walk away. The door slammed closed behind him.

Phil smirked. "Smooth move, assholes. You'll never find out what his problem is if you keep pushing him away." Phil turned to the door. "And if looks could kill, well…"

"Who the hell asked you?" Roman growled. He threw his hair back, beads of water trickling down his face. He turned his back on the WWE Champion and entered the locker room he shared with Dean.

Dean just shook his head. "I'm sorry about Roman. He's not… the best with words." Dean offered with a shrug. "Do you know what his problem is? He won't tell us."

"Well, if what he's told me is true, then he has a reason to be pissed the hell off. Yes, I do know what the problem is. And no, I don't think I'm gonna tell you." Phil shifted the belt on his shoulder. "Figure it out yourself."

Dean frowned. His hands balled into fists at his sides and it was clear that it took immense self-restraint to not deck the WWE Champion then and there. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

"I think that I'm gonna take a page out of Ken Anderson's book and take that as a compliment." Phil said with a smirk. And then, with a teasing wave, he started off to his own locker room.

A few seconds later, he heard the door slam closed behind Dean. Phil smirked. He would have to talk to Seth later, let him know that Dean and Roman were both concerned about him (Roman in his own way, of course), and see if that made any difference. Because, while he might have been amused by his little conversation with Dean, this was a serious matter and he knew that Seth needed to be back with them as soon as possible.

Phil arrived at the locker room and found, much to his dismay, that there was a letter taped to his locker room door. His heart sank in his chest. If this was anything like the letters that Seth had received, he honestly didn't want to read it. Despite that, he found himself entering the locker room and flicking on the light, closing and locking the door behind him. The letter trembled in his hand as he made his way over to the black leather couch.

_You think that you can help the little bitch, huh? You honestly think that you can make a difference in all of this? Let me tell you, Phil… this 'Best in the World' business is only a delusion. You're blinded by your own imagined grandeur. But I'll bring you back down to planet earth. I'll make you see the truth. And when you crash and burn, I'll be there to fan the flames…_

There was a knock on the door. Phil crumpled the note into a ball and threw it into the trashcan. "Who is it?"

"It's me, baby. Open the door, would you?" Phil unlocked the door and allowed Chris inside. Chris was back, traveling with the WWE, waiting for his official return at the Royal Rumble. "How are you feeling?"

Phil forced a smile, starting to change into his street clothes. "I'm good. My knee hurts a little, but the medic says that it's okay. I should rest it for the Royal Rumble, but otherwise, it's okay."

Chris looked concerned. Phil, now in his jeans, straightened as he slid into his shirt. Chris walked over and put a hand on his forehead. "Are you sure that you're okay? You look a little pale."

The color must've drained out of his face when he read that letter. "I'm sure. You ready to head back to the hotel?"

"And celebrate your 428 days as WWE Champion?" Chris trailed a finger down Phil's neck. "I wouldn't miss it for the world…" He leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lover's lips. The letter lay in the trash, forgotten.

* * *

Seth didn't like to be alone. Locked in his hotel room, hidden away in the dark, he couldn't deny that he was absolutely terrified. He bit down on the inside of his mouth, silently reminding himself that he had locked the door and all of the windows. Nobody could access the room unless they had the key, and the front desk wouldn't just hand a key to anyone. A creak from somewhere in the distance made him jump. He was incredibly uneasy.

He sat on the twin bed, a flash light in hand, and the newest note crumpled in the pages of his novel by Stephen King. Dean and Roman had cornered him shortly after he had come out of his locker room and had asked him about it, and to avoid confrontation he had lied and said that one of the pages had come out. Excusing himself from the situation (more like shoving them out of the way) had landed him in even hotter water.

Carefully, he turned to the crumpled note and looked it over once. He had taught himself to never look for _content_ first. While he had been on the WWE Roster for a few years, he wouldn't say that he was well acquainted with the different stars. It took teaming up with the monster Reigns and the mastermind Rollins for him to be noticed. And it always left him with the same question. Where did that leave him?

No, the first time he never read for content. The first time he read for patterns. He looked for words that were used excessively, patterns of speech, or uncommon phrases. The last one, for example, would be like some parts of the world say 'soda' and others say 'pop'. Maybe, if he could isolate the terminology used in the letter, then he would have a better idea of who had sent in. But, like usual, there was none.

_It's a shame that Dean and Roman don't realize what they have in you. Or, rather, should I say 'had'. It seems like the situation with them has only gone from bad to worse, huh? Today, after the show, you would barely even look at them. Hell, I was pretty sure, at one point, you were ready to deck Roman. And the bastard deserves it. They both deserve it. After all, you would have to be blind to not realize how utterly perfect you are._

_It's that beauty that I crave. I'll harness it, bottle it, and sit it on a shelf forever. You're a doll, Seth. That's all you are. To be admired from a far, never broken, abused, or hurt. And I'll have you. Dean and Roman don't deserve you, and if they come near you again, I'll show them just how far I'll go to make you mine. You'll have a new master soon enough, and I'll make you forget about those demons… after I wash the ring with their blood._

There was a knock at the door. Seth's heart started to beat against his rib cage, hammering so hard that he was sure that it would break through. He turned the flash light off. "Little piggy, little piggy, _let me come in_."

Seth wanted to scream, but he couldn't. He didn't have the voice to do so. Clambering off of the bed, he slid underneath it like a cowardly child. All that he could see was the small strip of light underneath the door just a few feet away. The man on the other side of the door was breathing heavily, almost obnoxiously so. Seth tried to quiet himself as much as possible, but his nerves made that nearly unmanageable.

"If you don't let me in…" there was a pause, and then his foot connected with the door and shook it to it's very foundation. A healthy crack appeared. "Then I'll _huff_, and I'll _puff_, and I'll _knock your door in._"

Another kick. The door trembled, but stood strong. Another kick. Another. Another. Seth felt tears bubble in his eyes as more light from the hallway shone in, until finally, the hole was large enough for the man's monstrous paw to slide in and unlock the door. He lumbered inside, his large frame casting shadows all along the floor. That was when Seth saw the face of his attacker for the first time.

Seth screamed.


	6. Lesson Number One

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

It had been a mistake to scream. Before he had screamed, his assailant didn't know where he was. But now, from what Seth could see from underneath the bed, the crazed eyes were locked onto his own. His heart hammered uncontrollably in his chest, each one of his nerves alight with the instinct to _flee_. It obviously wasn't safe here. And why had he chosen to hide under the bed? Wasn't that the first place that the murderer looked? Meekly, he started to slither back to the far wall. But he was too slow, and all of a sudden, two hands slid toward him.

Instinctually, when the hand closed around his shoulder, Seth leaned forward and bit the thick collaboration of muscle and tough, dry skin. The man howled, but didn't withdraw his hand. So Seth bit harder, bit until his jaw ached, bit until he felt blood squirt over his tongue. It was useless. The man had an unfathomable tolerance for pain and, with his wounded arm, started to drag Seth's body toward him. Seth's eyes widened as he realized that there was little that he could do to prevent this. He had exhausted himself _and_ all of his options.

All of a sudden, he was out from under the bed. Now, with both hands on Seth, he was lifted and thrown onto the bed. When the man released him to reach for an object behind him, he tried to flee. He only succeeded in falling off of the bed in his haste and banging his head on the floor. Blood trickled into his eye and his body suddenly felt incredibly heavy. The man, infuriated by his actions, tossed him back onto the bed and secured the duct tape over his mouth. Handcuffs hooked over his lithe wrists and a bandana secured over his eyes.

Seth's screams of terror were muted behind the silver duct tape, which wound around his head several times to ensure that he stayed silent. The man's arms hooked around his middle, taking him off of the mattress and throwing him over his shoulder. Seth kicked, his knee just barely missing the man's groin. Cursing under his breath, a meaty paw of a hand clubbed him on the injured side of his head. Even with the darkness of the blindfold, the world seemed to become that much darker. And then all became uncomfortably silent…

* * *

"Wakey, wakey, Sethie." The man teased, taking hold of Seth's two-toned locks and yanking his pretty head back. Seth's eyes slowly fluttered open, the room coming in and out of focus. However, he was soon able to comprehend that he was still in the hotel.

"W-Where am I?" Or, at least, that was what he _tried_ to ask. It was rather difficult to understand him with the duct tape still secured over his mouth. He tried to speak a second time, but it came out only as a series of muffled moans.

"Oh, would you like me to remove that for you?" Meaty fingers continued to rake through Seth's hair. "I don't think I want to. It's rather nice, you know, to not have to hear you run your mouth all the time. Just like Punk, you just don't know when to shut up."

Seth's eyes widened. "What the _hell_ have you done to Phil?" This, of course, was what he wanted to ask. Instead, the stupid moans that came out of his mouth caused his cheeks to flush crimson. How could he help his friend if he couldn't even speak?

"I wouldn't worry too much about dear ol' Punk, Sethie dear. He'll get what's coming to him in due time. But _you_? Well, you're the kind of bitch that needs discipline. I sent you _how many_ letters? What is it about 'you're mine' that's so hard to understand?" He asked.

Seth didn't even bother to answer. It was wasted energy, and he already felt _so_ tired…

"Maybe I need to get a bit more personal, huh? Maybe I need to take out your precious Dean? Or maybe Roman?" He continued.

Seth moaned and, in response, the man yanked his hair back. Biting down on his already sore lip, blood flowed onto the duct tape.

"Or is it that you just don't care about your masters? Is that it?" He made a sound of utter disapproval. Walking around to Seth's front, he started to remove the man's boots.

"What are you doing?" Seth's half-lidded eyes followed the man's every movement, but his tired brain was too clouded to fully comprehend what was happening.

"Why, what am _I_ doing?" The man feigned shock. "I'm only teaching you a lesson, Sethie. You'd do well to learn it by heart."

From somewhere in the darkness, the man obtained a riding crop. It was long and thin, with places where the leather had worn away and had been replaced with thin links of metal. All in all, it looked rather monstrous. And to Seth, in his drugged state, it looked like a character from one of his frequent nightmares. The man caressed the weapon as if it were a long lost lover. It wove over his hand serenely, but Seth knew it had to have quite a bite. And when the man thrust the whip, cracking it against the chair, the cut it left in the wood testified to that.

Seth closed his eyes. He didn't need to see to know that the man had raised the whip high into the air. Holding his breath, which was never a smart idea in situations such as these, he waited. And then it hit. It was like someone had lit a firecracker and it had exploded on his foot. He screamed, but it sounded dull to his own ears. Another slice. Another. He could feel it bleeding now. The blood would be hot, thick, and fresh. The wet smack of it against the whip nearly made him ill.

And the man seemed to find all of this terribly amusing. He laughed as he administered the brutal punishment, not even caring that Seth was on the brink of losing consciousness. By the time the attack moved to the left foot, he was out of it completely. The attack was swift and brutal, unlike the one on the right. Most likely, this was due to the fact that he couldn't enjoy Seth's agony. Casting the whip aside, he took a bucket of ice water and assaulted Seth's face with the contents. He awoke sputtering, but still unable to say a word.

"Did I say that you could fall asleep on me, boy?" His voice was firmer now, but there was an amused shimmer in his eyes that made Seth sick. He patted Seth's cold, wet cheeks affectionately.

Seth shook his head, unable to do much more.

"That's lesson number one, my boy. I hope you learned from it. After all, I don't like to punish you." Like Seth actually believed that. "And now, time for lesson number two." The demonic smirk on the man's face did more than unsettle Seth…

Seth shook his head once more. He was just so tired and the last thing he wanted to do was endure more of this abuse.

"It's not like you have much choice in the matter, boy." His voice was back to being frozen, hard.

Seth tried to speak behind his gag. "Don't touch me."

"You're so cute, Sethie – you actually think that you have a choice in all of this. Now, here's what you're going to do…"

* * *

Not bothering to wait for Dean's call, Seth raced into the ring and threw himself at the mercy of Sheamus' Brogue Kick. Just the running itself caused his feet to bleed again, but he didn't care. In fact, he couldn't feel much with the utter numbness spreading through him. Dean and Roman entered the ring shortly thereafter, beating the crap out of the assailants and, after they had beaten them down, dragged Seth out of the ring. Seth's eyes were hazed over and, most likely, he had a concussion. But he had fulfilled lesson number two.

Dean and Roman took Seth to the back, which allowed him time to come to his senses. Realizing that he was still upset with them, he tore himself out of Roman's arms and almost fell over. His boots squelched with blood. Falling down, almost onto his face, he stumbled back to his feet and rushed into his locker room. He couldn't allow them to touch him, couldn't allow them to see him like this. The lesson was to throw himself on the line for them, only to take himself out of the equation before things became 'too serious'.

"I just want to sleep… my feet hurt so fucking bad, I don't even want to look at them." Seth stretched out on the couch, closing his eyes. But not before he saw the letter attached to his gym bag.


	7. Forced

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

The letter read:

_Good job, Sethie. You're just lucky that Sheamus' boot didn't hit that pretty little head of yours a little harder, or else it would have knocked it clean off. For once, you've proven yourself worthy to be my submissive. I'll admit, I had my doubts. However, you have served me well. If only you could see your two precious masters now! They resemble animals, kid. Animals in heat, ready to break down and claim the first twink that crosses their path. You mean nothing to them._

_I don't know why you would want to go back there, sweetheart. It's clear that they don't love you and I doubt that they ever did. I'm the only one that will ever love you. And after your match tonight, I think that you deserve to be rewarded. Come back to the hotel room where I brought you earlier today – and if you don't, well, let's just say that that will make me feel a lot less guilty about dishing out Lesson Number Two. You have a half an hour, boy. Don't make me wait._

* * *

"Good boy. For a while there, I wasn't sure that you'd make it." He walked over to Seth, who kept his eyes averted to the floor. "Why won't you look at me, Seth? Are you afraid of me, boy?"

Seth swallowed hard, tears streaking down his face. His two-toned locks fell down in front of his face, but he remained silent. A firm hand raked across his cheek and he saw stars. "Ouch!" It was all he could say.

"When I ask you a fucking question, I want you to _answer_ me, boy! Do you understand me? I want a fucking answer and I want it now!" He screamed into his face. He screamed until his face turned red.

"N-No." Seth stuttered. "N-No, sir. I'm not afraid of you." He remembered how Dean and Roman had trained him. "I'm just a little… startled, that's all. I'm not afraid of you." He repeated with trepidation.

A meaty hand took hold of his chin and yanked him forward, tilting his head back. "Then you look me in the eye when I speak to you. I don't want to punish you, Sethie."

_Like hell you don't. You want to hurt me. No, you love to hurt me._ Seth's mind screamed at him. Instead, he offered, "I know that, sir. And I do not mean to force you to feel the need to punish me."

The man smiled, but it was twisted, demented. Still holding Seth's face in his hand, his hold hard but firm, he led Seth over to the bed and tossed him down onto the flimsy mattress. Immediately, fear turned Seth's blood to ice. Terror caused him to choke on his own saliva and the tears bubbled over, streaking down his tanned cheeks. The man's smile never faltered. He started to rid Seth of his clothes, steadfastly ignoring the tears on his face.

He stroked Seth's hair, attempting to console him in his own twisted way. It was obvious that the man felt no remorse for his actions. If he did, he would have seen that Seth was clearly uninterested and he would have stopped by now. But now, Seth was naked. Laid out on the mattress in all his glory, the tears came faster now. He wailed as he clawed at the blankets, attempting to crawl to the head of the bed and put some distance between himself and his attacker. It didn't work.

His disobedience only made his attacker angrier. Hooking his meaty hands around Seth's ankles, he pulled him back down until he flopped back into his original position. Fingers trailed over the messy scabs on the bottoms of Seth's feet, and occasionally, his assailant would smack the tender flesh. Seth sobbed, biting his bottom lip bloody. It was only made worse when the man started to touch him in a reverent, almost intimate manner. He felt like he was about to be violently ill.

"Now, Sethie, won't you purr for me? Don't tell me that you don't like this. I know that you do." He slurred in what was meant to be a seductive manner. It just made Seth sick.

"Please, don't do this. You don't have to do this. I… I promise, if you let me walk away now, I won't tell anybody. I won't tell _anybody_ who you are. You have my word." Seth's words mashed together as he prayed to be left alone.

"You want to know the truth, Sethie my boy?" That devilish smirk had returned. An open palm struck Seth across the face.

Seth looked at him, tears streaming down his pretty face. It didn't break the demon at all.

He leaned forward, brushing his lips against Seth's ear. "I don't trust a single word out of your pretty fucking mouth."

Taking hold of Seth's two-toned hair, he forced Seth onto his stomach and knocked the wind out of his lungs. He left Seth spluttering, smiling as he watched him cough blood onto the mattress. Seth continued to sob, barely able to breathe. But his submissive instincts kicked in, his mind recalling Roman's strong, bulky body over his. The power dynamic between them had been incredible. And Seth had so loved to feel Roman's body over his…

He relaxed against the bloody, sweaty mattress. It wasn't really relaxation, no. It was more a comatose state. He just couldn't fight him off anymore. His body, his brain… it had betrayed him. He barely even registered the clothes flying off of the man's body. The sickness returned when the man's large frame settled over his own, because it wasn't Roman and it would never _be_ Roman. Never again. All he wanted to do was lay there and die.

"Just relax, Sethie my boy." The man purred. His slimy hands raked all over Seth's back, attempting to 'soothe' him. "I promise, it'll only hurt a little bit…"

* * *

The man left Seth in the early hours of the morning. He didn't know where his destination was and, to be honest, he really didn't care. Curling up into a ball in the middle of the bed, he allowed his eyes to fall closed. He tried to blank his mind. If his mind was blank, then he wouldn't remember what that bastard did to him. But if he forgot, then that would mean that this… that he had accepted this. And he would never be able to say that he 'accepted' what that bastard did to him.

Unfortunately, there was another letter on the bed beside him. He stared at it, all of the words blurring together. The last thing he wanted to do was read it, but he knew that he had to. If he didn't follow the letter to a tee, then he would be punished. Not that his reward wasn't a punishment in its own right. He had taken Seth. He had broken him down and he had taken him until Seth just couldn't do it anymore. The last three rounds, he hadn't even been hard. It had been absolutely awful.

"I-I'm sorry." Seth spluttered. He didn't know who he was apologizing to, as he was alone in the room, but it still took a weight off his chest to have the words out in the open. Oh God, there weren't words to describe how sorry he was.

Stretching out, barely feeling the burn in his back, his ass… all over his body… he took hold of the letter and read it over. His heart sank. No. Hell, no. He could never… But then, he didn't have a choice. His attacker was bigger than Roman and certainly bigger than Dean. He'd decimate them in a second and then what would Seth do? At least, this way, he could still see them occasionally. He had to be an ass to them, sure, but he could see them safe and sound.

He rolled onto his back and whispered one last time, "God, I'm so sorry." And then, clutching the letter to his chest, he closed his eyes and tried his best to fall asleep.


	8. Follow the Directions Carefully

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Kidnapping, Threats, Threesome, Non-Con, etc.

* * *

After an hour or so, Seth had convinced himself that the man wasn't going to return anytime soon. Slowly, with an almost painful amount of effort, he crawled to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom. His legs were slick and sticky with blood and with every step he could feel him on him, _in_ him. All he wanted was to be clean. A steady stream of tears running down his face now, he practically fell into the shower trying to turn it on.

Soon enough, boiling hot water started gushing from the faucet, leaving his skin in an uncomfortable, perpetual burning state. But it was nothing compared to the hole in his heart. As cheesy as it may have sounded, it felt as if someone had taken a pile driver and set it against his heart, attempting to blow a hole in the muscle. And it worked. Seth had never felt weaker, more vulnerable. He felt utterly sick to his stomach.

Only a few seconds under the spray, his legs crumpled underneath him and he hit the marble _hard._ Flares of white-hot pain shot up his spine and caused colorful sparks to dance before his eyes. For a second, he worried that he had broken his tail bone. Luckily, the pain soon melted away, and a nasty bruise started to form in its stead. The man in the hotel room adjacent to theirs knocked on the wall and told him to quiet down. He wanted to scream, but didn't.

It wouldn't do him any good to scream, anyhow. He had learned his lesson real fast. If he screamed, it would lead to more vicious attacks. Not that anything could be worse than what he had been forced to endure mere hours earlier. He would rather endure another whipping to his feet then have to experience the hell that he had endured a second time around. He bit his bottom lip, not even wanting to look at his feet right now.

Pink water continued to flow down the drain, undisturbed. When it finally ran clean, Seth grabbed onto the bar on the shower wall and hoisted himself up. He took the complementary bar of soap and rubbed it all over his body, just wanting to be rid of the man's awful stench. But it didn't matter how hard he scrubbed. He could still feel the hands all over him. He could still feel the man inside of him. And he was scared that that would _never_ go away.

Unable to bear being in the shower for a moment longer, he slid out into the cool bathroom and wrapped himself in a fluffy white bathrobe, also complements of the hotel. It was kinda funny, how the hotel left so much shit around, "on them", and none of it could make him feel any better. He slid down the wall, taking his phone and dialing the first number he could think of. In fact, it was the only number he could think of. Dean Ambrose.

_"Hello?"_ Dean asked. He sounded tired, but he tried to cover it up, knowing that it was Seth on the line. _"Seth, baby, is that you?"_ He asked, his voice hopeful.

Seth's heart fluttered in his chest, but his throat was too dry and his chest too tight to answer.

_"Seth, baby, are you there? Is that even you, Seth? If this is some bastard that's taken Seth's phone, then the joke isn't funny." _Dean said. The hopeful tone had melted over into angst-filled hatred.

Still, Seth couldn't answer. Even if he wanted to answer, he couldn't.

_"Jokes up, asshole. Don't even think about calling this number again."_ Dean ended with a flamboyant string of curses, before he ended the call in a huff.

The tears returned now, hot and heavy. Seth didn't even try and stop them. Did he deserve this? After all, he had to have known. Dean and Roman couldn't love, or want, someone like him. He was too frantic, too nervous, like a deer caught in the headlights. He was always waiting for the other shoe to fall. Dean and Roman deserved a better submissive then someone like that. Maybe they had already found one.

But just as he allowed it to really get to him, he heard the door to the main hotel room swing open. The man lumbered inside, dropping several bags onto the floor. Seth's heart clenched in his chest. He drew his knees into his chest, holding himself. Dean and Roman didn't want him. They didn't love him anymore, and they certainly wouldn't love him after they found out about this. The only one that loved him was this monster.

"Seth? Seth? Where are you?" The man called. He looked around, probably real afraid that Seth had run off or something. But that wouldn't have been the safe thing to do.

"I'm in the bathroom, sir. I was just… I was just taking a shower, that's all." Seth whispered. The man heard him, however. He knocked on the door. "The door is locked."

Silence. A painfully long silence. "And why, pray tell, is the door locked? Do you have something to hide from me, Sethie?" He wasn't calm anymore. His tone was dark, almost evil.

Seth swallowed hard. "No. No, of course not sir. I don't have anything to hide from you."

Immediately, the tone lightened. "Well, then, why don't you come out and see what I bought for you."

_Like hell_. Seth thought to himself._ I'd rather rot in this bathroom, thank you very much_. "I'm feeling a little sick. I think I caught the stomach bug that's going around."

"What did I tell you about lying, Sethie?" The man purred, his voice darkening again. "You're not very good at it."

"I don't -,"

"You _will_ be out here in five minutes, Sethie. I'm not a patient man. Don't keep me waiting."

Seth squeezed his eyes closed and balled his hands into fists, his nails cutting crescents into the pale skin there. Constantly, he told himself that he wouldn't get up. He would stay in that bathroom forever if he had to. But something deep inside of him told him that that would be a mistake. If he chose to stay in that bathroom, then he would die in there. There was no doubt in his mind that that man would kill him if he disobeyed.

So he climbed to his feet, feeling the pain tearing at his backside. The man was standing inside of the hotel room, smiling darkly at him as Seth walked over and sat down on the bed. Before his butt hit the mattress, the man was on him. He tore the front of Seth's robe opened and forced it off of him. Seth did his best to maintain his composure, but it was difficult. He'd never felt filthier than when the man's eyes raked over his body.

"That's a good boy. And you look so much better naked anyhow." He smiled lecherously. "I think that you should be naked in my presence from now on. Always. And if you're not…" he cracked the whip against the bed menacingly.

"I don't, I…." Seth sobbed brokenly. He felt so open, so vulnerable, being naked in his presence. "Please, give me my robe back. It's cold in here. Please…"

The whip bit across his back and Seth screamed, only to have the man's hand stuffed into his mouth. He choked on the fingers, barely able to breath. "I don't fucking care if you're cold. Now shut your mouth and listen up."

He opened up the bag full of items that he had just bought. Seth's heart thudded in his chest, his back burning and bleeding profusely. The man didn't seem to care, however. He took the first item out. It was a dark blue dildo, which had a cock ring attached. The second item was a pair of fluffy blue handcuffs, which matched the dildo. Seth stopped paying attention after that. All of those items disgusted him.

"What do you think? I figured blue was a rather neutral color, so you would like it. Plus, it's far from the traditional pink." He gushed as if Seth would actually like that sort of stuff. Or, at least, like it with a monster like him.

But Seth lied. He lied because he had to. He had no other choice, if he wanted to keep his body intact. "I love them. They're all… perfect." He spat the last word out, trying not to choke on it.

The man's lips twisted into a sinful smirk. "What do you say we try them out tonight? We don't have to leave the hotel until tomorrow afternoon, so we can play _all night_."

Seth barely bit back a sob as the man started to climb over him, his bleeding back brushing against the blankets. "I'm not sure…"

Fingers knotted painfully in his two-toned hair. He cried out in pain. "What was that?"

"It sounds _great_!" Seth lied. And as the monster closed the distance between their mouths, he knew he was in for a long, painful night.

* * *

"You okay, Phil? You seem a little stiff tonight." Chris offered as he tenderly worked the kinks out of Phil's neck. The ravenette hummed silently, not sure if he should speak or not.

"Can I ask you a question, Chris?" Phil tilted his head back just far enough to be able to look into the blond's eyes. The blue orbs were wide, filled with love and adoration for the straight-edge star.

"Of course, Philly. You know that you can tell me anything, don't you?" He offered reassuringly. "Tell me what's on your mind." He lay back, pulling Phil around so that the younger man's head rested on his stomach.

Phil looked uncertain for a minute, before he finally decided to push ahead. "It's about Seth."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Seth, as in, Seth Rollins? Like, from The Shield."

Phil nodded. "The same." Immediately, Chris started to get uncomfortable. "I want you to keep an open mind."

"Do you have any idea what those _animals_ are doing to the roster, Phil? And your manager, who supposedly has your best interest at heart, is the one that let them loose! What do you mean 'keep an open mind'?"

"I think he's in trouble. And… I think that I'm in trouble too." Phil confessed meekly, hating to sound weak.

Quickly, Chris switched back into defensive mode. His arm wound around Phil's body, holding him tight. "You know that I would never let anyone hurt you. And if Seth means that much to you…"

Phil smiled softly. "I haven't even told you what his problem is yet."

"Doesn't matter. You're worried about him, so I'll watch out for him." Chris answered. "What is his problem?"

"He's been getting these really threatmantic letters from some crazy stalker that wants to take him from Dean and Roman, and I'm pretty sure that it worked. I don't see them together and Roman's been more violent recently."

"Where the hell did you come up with 'threatmantic'? And have you been receiving letters like this too?"

Chris looked like he was ready to tear someone's head off. It was a good thing that Phil shook his head. "Not exactly. And threatmantic means threatening and romantic, bastard." He took out a piece of paper, "This is the letter."

It read:

_I find it almost amusing that you think that you can stand alone against such a powerful force, little man. You're nothing more than the damsel in distress, tied down to the railroad tracks. I'm the train. And if you get in my way, there won't be any chance to revive you. You'll be road kill. And little Sethie here? Well, he'll certainly wish he was dead. But some people just aren't that lucky. So do both of you a favor and keep your nose out of our business. If not, well, I know how to make the walls of Jericho come tumbling down…_


	9. Mixing Pain and Pleasure

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Threats, Kidnapping, Non-Con, Pain Kink, etc.

* * *

"Fuck, Roman. Look at your face." Carefully, Dean brushed Roman's dark hair away from his face in order to better see the colorful bruise on his cheekbone. "I swear, when I see that bastard next, I'll kill him."

Roman scowled. "I can take care of myself." He turned away from Dean's tender hands and stared into the mirror, his dark eyes fixed on the bruise with disdain. He had his own ideas about how to handle Paul.

Dean tried not to seem like he was too affected by Roman's blatant disregard for his feelings, but it wasn't like it was the first time that Roman had been cold and distant since Seth had left. They really _should_ talk. "Roman?"

"What?" There was a lethal look in Roman's eyes, and Dean knew that he had to be careful. "And if this is about Seth, I don't want to hear it. I'm tired of cutting off my balls just to try and get him back. He left. Get over it."

"That's an… interesting way to put it." Dean had to choke back a laugh. "But, seriously Roman. We've been together for almost five years now. You don't care that he just… got up and walked away?"

Roman got off of the sofa, grabbed his towel, and slung it around his neck. He needed a hot shower like nobody's business. "That was his decision. We can't baby him, Dean. Let him be a big boy."

For a second, it almost seemed like the conversation would end there. Dean stuffed his hands into his pockets and Roman walked over to the shower. But then, Dean added, "It's not your fault, you know. You should know that."

Roman's chocolate brown eyes flickered dangerously. Immediately, Dean knew that he had hit a nerve. And, even better yet, he knew that he had hit one that was raw and bleeding. Roman might not have been as expressive with his emotions, but that didn't mean that he didn't have any. And from the flaring of his nostrils and the wrinkled skin between his eyebrows, it was clear that he blamed himself for Seth's current hatred.

It was almost understandable, in a way. When Seth had first left, he was in a compromised emotional state. He wanted to hurt and be hurt, so maybe the disconnect wouldn't hurt so much. And Roman had fulfilled his twisted desire. He'd knocked him to the floor and he'd beat the living hell out of him. And while Dean didn't exactly support Roman's unorthodox methods, that had been how Roman had expressed his fear. He was afraid. And that was hard for him.

Carefully, Dean dared to cross the distance between them. With the distance gradually becoming smaller, Roman started to look less like a menace and more like a deer in the headlights. He stumbled back, his hands reaching blindly for something, anything, to grab hold of. Instead, Dean backed him directly into the shower stall. The sensor caught the movement and water shot out of the shower head, drenching both of their bodies immediately.

"It's not your fault, Roman. He slapped you. He knows better than that." Dean whispered.

Roman slid down the shower wall, staring at Dean blankly. "Yes, it is. It _is_ my fault."

Dean shook his head, slowly following him down. He started to undo the fixings of Roman's shirt and tossed it off of him, tracing the curves of his muscles reverently. Leaning forward, he whispered, "You can't blame yourself forever."

Roman didn't answer. He only rolled his face away from Dean's, closing his eyes against the scalding spray.

The smaller brunette sighed. "C'mon, Roman. Don't be like this. I can't have you disconnect on me too. Please."

Still, Roman didn't answer. His breath was stiff and hard, like he was trying not to cry. Roman _never_ cried.

"C'mon, Roman. Think of how Seth would feel if he saw you like this. Think of what he would feel like if he knew that he made you _cry_. C'mon, Roman. _Please_, baby. Just answer me."

Roman remained frighteningly silent.

Not knowing what else to do, Dean took hold of Roman's head and turned it so they were facing each other. Slowly, his chocolate brown eyes fluttered open and locked with Dean's hazy green eyes. Acting on impulse alone, the leader of The Shield closed the distance between them and locked their lips in a passionate, albeit one-sided kiss. Roman was more or less lifeless beneath him, his eyes filled with a deep-seated self-hatred that broke Dean's heart.

Breaking the kiss only because he needed air, he kissed and nipped a trail down Roman's meaty neck, down his chest, and eventually down to his navel. Dipping his tongue into the skin there, he felt Roman's body shudder involuntarily. He smirked. Involuntary or otherwise, it was a start. Next, his nimble fingers went to work on the buckle and zipper on Roman's slacks. The pants came off easily, considering Roman was less than enthusiastic to help.

"We both need this, baby. I _know_ that you need this. I can see it in your eyes, Roman. I just need you to answer me. Please? C'mon, baby. It's okay. I promise its okay. Just answer me, please?" Dean pleaded.

Roman only continued to stare at him detachedly. Dean couldn't even tell if he was crying, because the shower water was drenching his hair and face. He didn't even seem interested in speaking.

Standing, Dean started to shed his own clothes. Due to the shower water drenching the both of them, they were incredibly warm and heavy. He tossed them to the side, his eyes never leaving Roman's face. Even in his detached state, his body was still able to react to Dean's naked body. It was something familiar, something comforting. And when Dean fell to his knees in front of Roman, his heart aching for the distraught Samoan, Roman was half-erect.

Dean closed the distance between them and kissed him a second time, this time thankful to feel a tentative kiss in return. Roman's body was trembling, but it was hard to tell whether it was from pleasure or misery. Dean climbed over him, gently easing himself down onto Roman's thick cock. Even half erect, it was still a tight fit with no preparation and no lube – and it would only get worse. Roman's breath hitched and his eyes fell closed for a second time.

It took a minute for him to make himself comfortable, and in that time Roman had swollen to full hardness. Blood had started to slick the way and make their movements easier, but when Roman saw that, he tensed. Seth was still fresh in his mind, and he couldn't enjoy himself while bringing someone else pain. His fingers sunk into Dean's hips hard enough to leave bruises, causing Dean to still his erratic movements.

He looked at Roman in concern. While he still couldn't tell for sure, he was pretty sure Roman was crying now. "What's the matter, baby?"

"I'm hurting you." Roman had to swallow and quiet himself for a minute, unsure how to make it sound caring instead of harsh and indifferent. "I… I don't want to… I don't want to be pleasured by hurting you."

Dean looked confused. "You're not hurting me, baby. What are you talking about?"

"You're bleeding." Roman announced, his tone dead.

Disbelieving, Dean slid off of Roman's cock and saw for himself that he had indeed torn. It didn't really hurt, especially in comparison to how Roman's face must feel, but it was enough to worry and, possibly, scare Roman. Scare him into speaking when he was lost in his own self-hatred. And then, suddenly, Roman took hold of Dean's hand and pressed the fingers as hard as he possibly could into his swollen cheek. He winced and shuddered.

Dean tried to yank his arm back, but Roman wouldn't let him. "I don't want to hurt you, Roman."

"I _want_ you to hurt me. Hurt me like I hurt you." And then, softer, "like I hurt him."

Dean's eyes flashed. "No, Roman. This isn't your fault and I'm trying to prove that to you."

"I _want_ you to hurt me." Roman said once more. "You want to prove to me that this isn't my fault? Then prove to me that I didn't bruise him. Prove to me that I didn't break his ribs. Prove to me that he didn't have a concussion."

Dean was silent. He had no evidence to contradict Roman's claims, even if he knew all of them were false.

"You can't do it, can you?" Dean shook his head. "I _beat_ him, Dean. There's no secret about it. I beat him fucking black and blue. And I deserve to suffer for it. So, either _you_ hurt me, or I find someone who will."

Dean blinked, dumbfounded. Roman had truly left him with no choice. At least this was controlled. He knew what he was doing and when the sex was over, it would stop. If he asked someone else to do it, there was no way to tell _what_ would happen. He could be raped… beaten… killed. Dean couldn't bear to think of it, not after losing Seth. So he dug his fingers into Roman's face, flinching when the Samoan howled like a werewolf and bucked wildly underneath him.

But he didn't stop. He learned firsthand just how difficult it is to enjoy your own pleasure when your partner is in misery, when someone you loved wasn't in that place of euphoria with you. That must've been what Roman felt when he saw the blood. He was scared that he was brutalizing Dean like he had 'brutalized' Seth, when all he had really done was act in self-defense. Roman hadn't done anything wrong. It was a travesty that he couldn't see that.

Dean finished, unable to enjoy his orgasm. Thick ropes of white coated his and Roman's stomachs, and Roman emptied inside of him. Dean released Roman's face, which now looked more swollen then before. "It isn't -,"

But he never had a chance to finish. "You can say it as many times as you want, Ambrose. That doesn't mean it's true." And then he climbed to his feet and walked back into the locker room, abandoning Dean there.

* * *

Seth all but squealed as he was thrown down on to the bed, cursing wildly as objects of different size and weight were thrown in his direction. The heavy oriental lamp, which had to cost more than one-thousand dollars, shattered above the bed and the porcelain shards rained down on him messily. No matter which way he turned, the little slivers stuck in his skin and made him bleed. One sliver, almost the length of his thumb, was caught in his thigh.

"You fucking bastard, you think you can get away with disobeying me like that? I ought to kill you!" The man roared, throwing the heavy suitcase – with the greatest ease – at Seth's head.

"I'm sorry!" Seth screamed. He was choking on his own tears and hoping, praying, that Dean and Roman would crash through the door and save him from this hell. "I don't know what I did, but God, I'm so fucking sorry!"

"You're sorry? How can you be sorry if you don't even know what you did?" And then, out of his back pocket, he brandished a Swiss Army knife. The blade glinted in the harsh light of the moon.

Seth's eyes widened. "Please! Oh God, I'm so sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry!"

"I'm gonna make you wish you never called them, bitch!"

With a frightened yelp, he realized exactly what his attacker was hinting at. He had looked into Seth's call history and had found out that he had contacted Dean and Roman a few weeks earlier. Choking on his air, he sobbed loudly as he tried to climb further away from the weapon. Porcelain shards splintered his hands as he tried to move and blood trickled everywhere. And once his back hit the wall, he had nowhere to go. Seth Rollins was about to die.


	10. Gunfire

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Considered Self-Harm, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

When Dean arrived back at the hotel room, he wasn't surprised to find that Roman wasn't there. In fact, he didn't expect Roman to return that night at all. Roman needed time to sort this out for himself. Dean had planted the seed in his mind. He had tried his very best to convince him that it wasn't his fault that Seth had left – but he couldn't make Roman _believe_ him. When it came down to it, Roman was a man that was set in his ways. He'd see what he wanted to.

But if Dean was to be totally honest, he would also have to admit that he felt Roman was being a little bit selfish as well. Dean saw where he was coming from and, whether Roman wanted to believe it or not, he understood it as well. Dean also blamed himself for this. He felt like he had pushed Seth too hard, hadn't asked the right questions at the right times. Maybe if he had tried a little harder to find out why Seth was so upset, he'd still be with them.

His stomach rolled at the very thought of it. Seth was their baby. They both loved him so much, that it was incredibly difficult to focus all of that love into words. Without him, Dean and Roman couldn't reconcile their immense differences and they would… they would all collapse under the weight of their own self-hatred. It sounded rather drastic, sure, but that was the only other way that he could see this resolved.

Slowly, Dean started to peel off his clothes. He really didn't feel too hot. He tossed them in the general direction of his suitcase, not really caring if they made it in or not. He was still a little cold from the impromptu shower that he had taken with Roman, so he wanted to take another bath before he went to bed. Alone. He was the only one in the hotel room – Seth wasn't coming back and Roman, well, he didn't know _where_ Roman was.

It almost seemed instinctual to take his switchblade out of the suitcase and take it into the en-suite bathroom with him. He took it everywhere, just as a little extra precaution. It was part of the reason they took a tour bus instead of bothering with the airport. But with the switch on his person, he felt a little bit safer. Felt like he could protect Seth better. Not that Seth needed to be protected anymore. Seth didn't want them anymore. He hated them.

He chuckled blandly, his eyes dark and lifeless, as he filled the bathtub with ice cold water. It filled quickly, the sound of the water against the porcelain like drums on the battlefield. In a sense, that was what this was. A battle. Only, this was a battle inside of his head. His conscious mind versus his subconscious mind, where all of the monsters from the past and future lurked. It was a nightmare in there. And the nightmare was winning.

Once the bathtub was full, he turned off the water and climbed in. He was barely able to suppress a shiver as the cold water enveloped him in an icy embrace. He almost felt as if he would puke, but his stomach held. And then his lifeless eyes fell on the switchblade in his hand. Wouldn't it be so much easier if he could just end it, here and now? He wouldn't have to think about how he failed Seth anymore. He wouldn't have to see how broken Roman was.

But he couldn't do it. His hand tightened around the handle of the blade, constricting until his knuckles turned white, but he couldn't bring himself to cut himself. And so he let the blade fall into the water, watching as little bubbles swam to the surface. Laughter, almost as lifeless as his eyes, filled the air. It almost seemed fitting that he was still bleeding from his earlier encounter with Roman. Then, the laughter died away. And there was nothing…

* * *

"Are you scared of me, you little fucker?" The man howled, slashing the blade through the air. It came dangerously close to Seth's neck, missing by only a small fraction of an inch.

Seth swallowed hard. "Yes. Yes, sir, I'm _very_ scared of you." He ducked out of the way as another swipe of the knife nearly sliced his cheek. Instead, it cut off the ends of a few hairs.

"Take your punishment like a man, you little bitch! If you run from me, it'll only make it worse!" He screamed. However, Seth knew better. If he 'took his punishment', he would die.

"Please…" Seth keened. The man, finally tired of Seth's squirming, tossed the knife through the air. It impaled the wall just above Seth's head, but not before grazing his scalp just enough to make it bleed.

When thin lines of blood ran down Seth's face, staining his alabaster skin, it finally dawned on him just how grave the danger was. Without thinking, he threw his body forward and knocked into the bigger man just enough to knock him off balance. That provided just enough of a distraction for him to take his arm and swing it between the man's legs, hitting him where the sun doesn't shine. A monstrous howl filled the air and the man went down like a lead zeppelin.

Seth bounced off of the bed and _ran_. His bare feet were sliced open on the broken bits of the oriental lamp, but he didn't care. He knew that this was his only chance to escape and he needed to take advantage of it. In the background, the man clutched his crotch as he fell amidst the bloody shards, howling in pain as that multiplied his own misery tenfold. Seth refrained from smiling. This wasn't the time to be rejoicing yet.

He made it all the way to the door before realizing that his captor had locked it from both the inside _and_ the out. The key was around a chain on his neck, which also held the key for his chest of _toys_. It was part of the torture that Seth was forced to endure. Knowing that there was no way he could go back and retrieve the key, not now, he had no choice but to wait for the man to come to his senses and come to him. That didn't take long.

"Oh, kiddo, let me tell you… that little ass of yours? It's _mine_." The predatory growl caused shivers to chase down Seth's spine and he moved backward until his back was firmly pressed to the door.

"Please… Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to…" Oh, yeah. Lying would really help him out in a situation like this. No, lying was exactly the sort of thing that would get him killed right about now.

"You expect me to believe that?" The man, in is infuriated frenzy, yanked the knife from the wall with little difficulty.

"Please… Please don't kill me. _Please_!" Seth started screaming. Screaming for anyone that might hear him.

"Why should I listen to a word out of your fucking mouth? I'd rather make it bleed." He hissed.

"I'll do anything that you want. Anything at all. I'll let you fuck me after every match. I'll let you beat me. I'll let you bruise me. Whatever you want. Just please, please God, don't kill me. Please." Seth rambled.

The man's devilish smirk was illuminated in the moonlit room. "I don't believe you."

Without further hesitation, the man threw himself at Seth. Seth screamed, ducking out of the way with barely enough time to save his own skin. The man charged head-first into the door, knocking it off of its hinges and lodging the handle of the knife into his ribcage, cracking two ribs. Seth watched as the door came down with a _thud_ that seemed to reverberate a million times over in the silence. Was this the chance of freedom that he so craved?

Not wasting another minute, he climbed over the man's body and raced down the hall. He didn't wait for the elevator, deciding instead to take the stairs. They were faster and safer. Phil's hotel room was on the second floor, and that was his destination. He needed to go to someone and tell them about this. He needed someone else to know that he was okay, but not really okay, and that there was a crazy man that still wanted his ass so that he could skin it alive.

But he never made it that far. Just as he reached the second floor, the sound of gunfire lit up the darkened hotel in the middle of the night…


	11. Who Is The Victim Here?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

Seth blinked nervously, unable to breathe as the reality of the situation slowly started to become clear. The glass doors which led out onto the second floor of the hotel had shattered, a small bullet hole through the upper right pane destroying the ornate artistry. And then, in the hallway, stood the victim. Bloody hands clutched at a tattooed stomach, trying to staunch the violent flow of crimson, but to no avail. Startled hazel eyes stared into Seth's.

There was a bottle of diet Pepsi on the floor. When the bullet had been fired, it had fallen out of his hand and exploded on the deep, emerald carpet. Now, as the blood dribbled over his hands and spilled onto the floor, he tried to form words, but his tongue failed him. It was thick and swollen in his throat and he couldn't breathe, just like Seth couldn't breathe. In another second, he fell to his knees. The blood flowed in an endless stream, making Seth sick.

"Look at him. Look at what you've done to him." The man slurred, pleased with his actions. He slid the safety back onto the weapon and stuffed it down the back of his pants. "This is _your_ fault."

Seth wanted to scream, but his voice broke off and trailed away. Instead, he settled on, "This… This isn't my fault. _This_ is what _you_ did to him! This is your fault! Why did you shoot him? Why didn't you shoot me?"

The man caught Seth's wrists in one strong hand. He didn't even realize that he had been lashing out against him until he nearly yanked them out of their sockets. "Since when do you think you can talk to me like that?"

"Ouch!" This time, Seth actually _did_ scream. "Let go of me! Please, stop, that hurts! Let go of me!" He started to kick, but one harsh blow to Seth's knee stifled all protests. "F-Fuck." He stuttered, falling out of the man's arms.

"I'll teach you, you little bitch. I'll teach you to mess with me!" Taking Seth's nearly lifeless body up off of the ground, he tossed him over his back and held him there firmly, stifling all protests with vicious threats.

It didn't take long for them to make it back to their hotel room. Once there, the man entered the room, stepping over the fallen door, and threw Seth down on the bed. Seth writhed as the oriental shards pierced his skin, unable to twist one way or another without impaling them further into his skin. And while he writhed about, the man hurriedly started to undress himself. There was no time to waste now.

Tears leaked from the two-toned man's eyes as the man approached him, hurriedly stripping all of his clothes off as well. This was a bit more of a trying task, however, as Seth's body was covered in blood, glass, and sweat. As the cloth was peeled off of his skin, shards fell back onto the bed and blood oozed from fresh wounds. Seth looked like a wreck, but at the same time, all of this would be covered by his ring gear. Nobody would be able to see his hell.

Seth opened his mouth to speak, but before he could even utter a word, the man struck him across the face so hard that black dots danced before his eyes. He felt his stomach roll and worried that he would be sick, like he had been sick so many times before in situations not unlike this one, but his constitution held. His captor took hold of his ankles and yanked him down the bed, causing shards of porcelain to roll across his already war-zone like back.

"I'm gonna teach you a lesson, you little bitch. You'd be wise to remember it." Raking his short nails down Seth's cheek, he relished in the boy's pained scream. Little dots of crimson blood streaked the surface.

"Ouch! That hurts! That hurts! Please, _please_, stop! That hurts!" Seth screamed, kicking his legs in vain.

A large hand closed around his knee and squeezed with unbelievable force. "I'd watch where you kick those legs of yours, boy. I'm short on patience and right now, you may end up with a broken knee."

Seth swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry. I swear that I'll be good."

"Good." His look turned devilish now. "There's no reason to make this hurt more than it has to."

Seth closed his eyes, trying to block off all of the signals his nerves were sending him. His body was on fire, the sensation similar to that of a match being dragged across his skin. But he didn't utter a word. If he did, then he would risk _everything_. His captor would kill him and then he would never be able to return to Dean and Roman, if they would even take him back. And so he swallowed hard and did his best to ignore the pain as his legs were opened.

* * *

"Mmm, Phil?" Chris rolled over, surprised to find his lover's side of the bed vacant and cold. While it was unusual for Phil to sleep through the night, he would usually just stay in bed until he, hopefully, drifted off again.

Chris wasn't too concerned, however. Knowing that Phil would come back when he was ready, he moved over a little bit to leave some room for him, before allowing himself to drift back off. That was, of course, until he heard the awful sound of a single gunshot ringing through the near-silent halls of the hotel. There was a scream, which he recognized to be Seth's voice, and then the sound of one set of footfalls leading off to the third floor.

His heart had flown into his throat the minute that he heard that single gunshot go off. Somehow, without even seeing what had transpired, he knew that it was Phil that had been shot. And with that in mind, he leaped out of bed and grabbed the nearest pair of pants that he could find. They happened to be a pair of his skinny jeans, which had been thrown off in a lust-filled frenzy the night before. Not bothering with a shirt, he continued into the hallway.

And then, his heart just stopped. He choked on the air as he fell to his knees beside Phil's fallen body, his hands on the carpet stained with diet Pepsi and blood. It soaked into his jeans and ruined them, but he didn't care. Crawling to his beloved pet, he gingerly lifted one arm to check for a pulse. It was incredibly weak, but still there. Not wasting any time, he set a hand on Phil's stomach to staunch the flow of blood and with the other, dialed 911.

_"911 – What's your emergency?"_ The operator asked, her tone far too cheerful.

Chris felt like he was about to hyperventilate as he choked back the tears. "It's… It's my boyfriend, Phil. He's… oh, God… there's _so much blood_… he's been shot!" Chris had to force the words out.

_"Alright, sir. Can you give me your address?"_ He gave her the name of the hotel. _"Okay, the ambulance is on its way. But I need you to do two things for me, alright?"_

"Okay." Anything. Chris would have done _anything_ if it meant that Phil was going to be okay, that he would live.

_"Is he breathing? Can you check for me?"_ She asked kindly.

Even if he had just checked, he did so a second time. So much could have happened in the span of a few seconds. "He's breathing… but it's so faint… Oh, God… Phil, just keep breathing baby. Just keep breathing."

_"And how is his pulse? Is it faint also?"_ She continued.

"Yes. Yes… it is." Chris rambled off, his eyes filling with tears as Phil's stared back lifelessly.

_"Okay, sir. I want you to stay on the line until the paramedics arrive and inform me of any changes, okay?"_

But Chris wasn't listening to her. He was too busy cradling his baby's head, just about the only part of him that could move without severe pain. The phone fell to the floor, useless. The call continued, but Chris wasn't bothering to listen. If Phil didn't make it through this… If Phil didn't make it through this, he didn't know what he would do. He had sworn to protect Phil from all danger and now, he had broken that promise.

_I find it almost amusing that you think that you can stand alone against such a powerful force, little man. You're nothing more than the damsel in distress, tied down to the railroad tracks. I'm the train. And if you get in my way, there won't be any chance to revive you. You'll be road kill. And little Sethie here? Well, he'll certainly wish he was dead. But some people just aren't that lucky. So do both of you a favor and keep your nose out of our business. If not, well, I know how to make the walls of Jericho come tumbling down…_

It was true. He really did know how to make the walls of Jericho come tumbling down…


	12. Like a Bloody Dream

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

**One Week Later**

"Hand me a bucket, Dean." Roman's voice was eerily calm. Dried blood was encrusted onto his bottom lip and his eyes were red and bloodshot. His condition had seriously deteriorated in only a matter of minutes.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, we're in our locker room in the back of the arena. Where the hell am I supposed to find a bucket?" His mind was elsewhere and he had obviously missed the serious note in Roman's voice.

Roman's chocolate brown eyes narrowed. "Do I look like I fucking care where you get the bucket from? I just need a bucket. _Now_." A thin rivulet of blood spilled over his cracked lip and dribbled down his chin.

Finally understanding the intended use of the bucket, a disturbed look came over Dean's face. To be honest, he hadn't thought that it was that bad. Sure, Roman had taken a hard hit from Show. He had gone down, eyes blown wide, clutching at his ribs like a man held the child that he thought he lost – carefully, but forcefully. It wasn't until he had speared Sheamus that he noticed Roman's behavior start to change. He was really hurt.

He was finally able to find a bucket in the shower room, flinching away as the rank smell of cleaning fluid assaulted his nostrils. But it was the only bucket around, so it would have to do. He rushed it back in to Roman, who snatched it out of his hand rather unceremoniously. Without uttering a word, he promptly turned his back to Dean and upchucked a sizeable amount of blood into the bucket. Dean looked away; Roman wouldn't want him to look.

"I need to get the medic." Dean said after Roman was finished. Roman set the bucket aside and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, blood staining his tanned skin.

"No, you don't." Roman said. Once again, his voice was eerily calm. "I'm absolutely fine. It was just a minor little mishap. It won't happen again." But the lack of color in Roman's face told a different story.

"Roman – it looks like you just tossed half the blood in your body!" Dean exclaimed, his worry clear.

Roman narrowed his eyes. "I'm fine, Dean. Don't press the issue."

And then, a dreadful idea came to him. "Is this still about Seth? Are you still punishing yourself for that?"

Roman rose off of the bench, a little wobbly on his feet thanks to the amount of blood he had just lost. "Who said I was punishing myself? I deserve pain." And then, he added, "But I wouldn't do this to myself purposefully."

"Then why won't you let me help you?" Dean asked, just a little bit desperate.

"Maybe because I don't want your help." Roman retorted coldly.

And that awkward silence returned. It had been awkward between them ever since Seth had left and Dean could see the cracks start to form in their relationship. His heart hurt as he watched Roman pull his shirt over his head, barely able to contain a wince as his bruises were agitated. Dean's breath caught in his throat as he saw the colorful array of bruises that stretched across Roman's ribs. They were undoubtedly broken at the very least.

His chest was a dark purple, the skin dark and wrinkly where he had hit the grate by the Titantron a little too hard. When he realized that he was staring, he hurriedly looked away and allowed Roman to finish undressing. But his eyes were unceremoniously drawn back to the bruises that dotted his skin. It was a wonder that Roman didn't just keel over then and there. But that would have been a show of weakness and Roman was _not_ weak.

"Are you okay, Roman?" It was the only thing that he could think to ask.

Roman blinked slowly, before he swallowed hard. Throwing his hair back with the flick of his neck, he answered, "No. No, I'm not okay. I don't think I ever was." And that was it. Conversation over.

* * *

Roman didn't want to wait for Dean, so he decided to walk the half-mile back to the hotel. It wasn't too chilly outside, but he still sank deeper into his hoodie as he maneuvered through the abandoned streets. He felt a little bit weak, a little bit vulnerable, and maybe even a little bit scared. Roman didn't exactly have a death wish. But if there was someone else walking the streets with him, there was little he could do to defend himself.

It wasn't until the hotel was in view that that fear, if it could even be called that, became a reality. A hand knotted in Roman's hair and yanked his head back, laughing as fresh blood frothed over his cracked lips. Roman coughed, unable to breathe as the blood rose in his throat. Still holding onto his hair, he spun Roman around and slammed him face-first into the wall. The side of his head split wide and blood oozed over his face.

He hadn't even had a chance to see who his attacker was. After Roman was disoriented, he started in on Roman's back. The black and blue skin was agitated by the grooves of his fists, and his body lurched forward with every punch successfully landed. He could almost _feel_ his ribs breaking. The awful crack as his skin slapped against the wall, followed by the feeling of a vice crushing his chest from within, had become familiar to him.

"This is a little delivery from your personal bitch… or should I say, your former bitch?" The man snickered. "You see, he was very clear in his wishes. And, unlike you, I'm man enough to fulfill them."

Roman receded further into his mind, thinking that it was his fault that Seth had left and only able to blame himself. "I feel like I'm about to be sick."

The man smirked, a nasty look on his face as he took in Roman's bloodied state. "If only little Sethie could see you now. But, of course, he's too busy laying on his back, legs spread out, ready for me to fulfill him."

Not even knowing what he was doing, he spun around and charged at his attacker, spearing him to the ground. His already wounded head cracked against the pavement and caused him to see stars. But it was obvious that his attacker was much more affected. His chest was bleeding heavily, and it looked as if the wound had been caused by a long, thick object – maybe a fragmented piece of a hotel room door?

"You don't _ever_ speak about Seth like that." Roman warned, his voice dangerously low.

"Aww, this is so cute." He laughed. But when Roman didn't join him, it hurriedly died away. "Oh, I'm sorry. Forgive me, but… I can't honestly believe that you think Seth _ever_ loved you."

Roman's hard exterior cracked momentarily, but he quickly but his defenses back up. "Shut the fuck up, now."

"I mean, that's why your wife left you, isn't it? You're just too damn hard to love. But Seth loved you, I think he did. He _loved_ you. But now, he just wishes you were… well, dead." His smirk grew nasty.

"Shut up!" Roman slammed his foot into the man's side, ignoring the blood that dribbled from his mouth.

"You're a sorry excuse for a man, Roman Reigns. Seth's lucky that he got out when he did. Because you never loved him, and Seth needs to realize there's so much more out there then some lackadaisical madman -,"

Roman cut him off, slamming his foot down on the man's face. "I said shut up!"

He slammed his foot down on the man's face repeatedly, but the effect was somewhat muted considering Roman's considerably weakened state. The spear had taken more out of him then he originally realized and now, winded, he was only able to draw a little bit of the man's blood to the surface. Alas, it didn't really have the desired effect. And when Roman was weak enough, the man took hold of Roman's ankle and tossed him down to the ground.

"A sorry, sorry excuse for a man…" he trailed off, his demonic smirk growing.

Roman tried to fight him off, but by now the loss of blood and the head wound were starting to get to him. He only had one choice now. He raised his knee and kneed the man between the legs, watching with sick satisfaction as he went down with a _thud_. Weakly, Roman climbed out from underneath him. Gripping at the wall, he started to shuffle away. He had put a considerable distance between them when a voice made him stop.

"Don't take another step forward." It was his attacker. Roman turned around, his eyes narrowed. "If you take another step forward, I swear I'll go back to that hotel and kill him."


	13. From Bad to Worse

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, Considered Self-Harm, etc.

* * *

Roman's eyebrow twitched. Slowly, he turned around to face the larger man. "What did you say?"

"You _know_ what I said." But even so, he still took the opportunity to repeat himself. "If you take one more step, I'll turn around, head back to the hotel, and _kill_ him. Put him out of his misery. The misery of your existence, that is."

Now, his chocolate brown eyes narrowed. "Shut the fuck up, bastard, before I shut your mouth for you."

"Oh, but if you did that, you would never be able to find out where Seth is and I don't think you're willing to take that kind of risk, are you?" When Roman didn't answer, he added, "I didn't think so, _kiddo_."

Long, thick fingers took hold of the man's bald head and smashed it against the concrete. Blood spilled over his fingers, but he didn't much care. "Don't pretend to think that you know what's going through my head."

"It's not all that hard to figure out, Roman. You're a lot of hot air, but besides that, a lot of fear." He hissed.

"And what gives you that impression?" Roman whispered. His assault had stilled momentarily, but he was still infuriated.

The man's blue eyes widened. "Well, y'know, there is the fact that you're still here, listening to me, begging for me to tell you if Seth really hates you." A pause. "I hate to break it to you, Roman… but you're _trash_ to him."

Roman's heart was tearing and he didn't understand it. "Shut up! I thought I fucking told you to shut up!"

"No." The man smirked. It made Roman uneasy. "You asked me a question and I answered it. Did you want me to lie?"

"No… but I didn't expect you to tell me the truth. And I still don't." Roman slurred. His head was starting to hurt.

This was his chance. He waited until Roman stumbled forward, a look of utter delirium in his eyes, before he took full advantage of his second wind and climbed to his feet, knocking Roman to the ground. He watched with sick satisfaction as all of the air forced its way out of Roman's lungs and a little bit of blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. For a second there, he almost felt bad for him. But then he remembered who he was and what he was there for. There was no time for remorse.

As soon as Roman was down, he was out. In the cold still of the night, it was even difficult to tell whether or not he was breathing. But the man knew that he was. He couldn't take the chance of killing him. If he killed him, then there would be fingerprints and DNA and all of the other high-tech gadgets that they had nowadays. But if he assaulted him… well, that was a scare-tactic. Obviously, taking Seth didn't have a big enough effect on them. He needed to take it to the next level.

He took out a piece of paper and scribbled down a quick letter, which he stuffed into Roman's fist. It was the only part of Roman's body that wasn't covered in blood, which was remarkable in and of itself. It seemed like Roman's entire body was covered in the sticky red substance. Once he was sure that it wouldn't float away when the wind started to pick up, he allowed his hand to trace down Roman's chest, still covered in the hoodie. He stared into Roman's black chocolate eyes.

"Just think about it this way, Roman." He drew out Roman's name in a sing-song manner, a sick smile on his face. "I'm not doing anything that isn't a long time coming. You mess with the bull, you get the horns. Poor Seth already learned that the hard way."

Roman was silent, aside from the gurgling sound in his throat as he tried to breathe around the blood.

"But I'm sure that you won't see it like that. Hell, who am I kidding, _of course_ you won't see it like that. You're Roman Reigns. You're above everyone else. But even the great and powerful Roman Reigns can be broken down…"

He took hold of Roman's hips and dragged him down until their bodies were almost touching. Once there, he tore the button off and watched it fly across the sidewalk, skidding into the sewer, never to be seen again. But that didn't bother him too much. He turned back to Roman's vulnerable body, unzipping Roman's pants and pulling them down his hips. Quickly ridding himself of his own pants, he spread Roman's legs, and, casting one last glance up at Roman's face, started to move in….

* * *

Dean stared into the mirror of the hotel room uncomfortably. He didn't like the way that his face looked. It seemed like a kind of selfish thing to say, but it was all he could think of with Roman mysteriously gone and Seth in some other man's bed. All he could think about was his face. It wasn't exactly the most beautiful face in the world. If he were to be honest with himself – Roman was the sexy one, Seth was the cute one, and Dean… well, sometimes Dean kinda felt like he was just there.

He tapped the handle of his blade against the porcelain sink, wondering once more if he shouldn't just end it. He could feel his relationship with Roman deteriorating and he had no idea what had become of his relationship with Seth. That one call from Seth's phone had been the last time he had received contact from the boy. That felt like an eternity ago. Now, as he stood before the mirror, he felt incredibly tired and sick to his stomach. When he looked in the mirror, he hated himself.

Maybe it was because he couldn't keep Seth safe. Maybe it was because he couldn't seem to fix his relationship with Roman. Or maybe, deep down, it was because he had never thought that he deserved the love of either of them and was just waiting for them to walk out on him. And now that it had happened, he didn't know what to do with himself. The _tap, tap, tap_ of the metal handle against the porcelain sink was all that could be heard in the silence, and it slowly drove him mad.

He turned the knife around, staring at the blade with a mad look in his eyes. Wasn't it Seth that had called him 'crazy as fuck'? Truer words had never been said. One minute he wanted to make love to Roman, the next, he was all alone in the hotel room, feeling like a little kid being ostracized by his friends. One minute, all he wanted to do was rest in bed with his two lovers, the next, he was back there, staring at the knife. He never did anything with it, only stared at it. But still…

But finally, he let the knife fall out of his hand and watched as it hit the basin with a soft _clank_.. He wouldn't do anything with that knife. At least, not tonight. He was still confused, still worried. And the more anxious he became as a result of that, the more he wanted to take that knife in his hand and squeeze. Not cut, just squeeze. He wasn't bloodthirsty, not yet. But there was still time. There was always time for further deterioration.

* * *

"How is he doing, nurse?" Chris asked, his eyes swollen, bloodshot, and tired. The nurse smiled at him sympathetically. She had seen him knocked out in the waiting room and had brought him a blanket to keep warm.

"He's doing better, sir. He's still not conscious, but his vitals are better. If you want, you can go in and visit with him. He's been cleared for visitors." Her smile never faded.

She'd never seen a man get to his feet so fast. "Thank you, ma'am."

And then he was inside of the room, dashing to Phil's bedside. He took hold of his baby's hand, his heart breaking as he realized just how easy it was to lift up off of the bed. Phil was so weak, his body so frail, it was almost as if he was dead. That thought caused him to grow still. A tremor shot down his spine. If Phil died… God, he couldn't even think about it. All he knew was that they would have to bury him with him, because he couldn't live without Phil.


	14. A Brief Encounter

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, Considered Self-Harm, etc.

* * *

Seth blinked slowly, awakened from his delirious stupor by the sound of the hotel room door slamming shut. He was back. "I thought that you said you had business to take care of…" he slurred, the side of his mouth swollen.

"That's none of your concern." The man retorted haughtily. But when he nonchalantly rubbed his blood-covered hands on his slacks, Seth knew that it _was_ his problem. "I'm gonna take a shower. Don't move."

"It's not like I _could_ go anywhere, even if I wanted to." Seth mumbled sadly. His entire body was unbelievably sore and he was too weak to yank down his arms from where they were handcuffed to a thin wooden rod above the bed.

"What did you say there, princess?" He turned around, flecks of dried blood on his face. It made Seth's stomach turn to look at him… in fact, he was rather disgusted with himself.

"Nothing. I didn't say a word." As if to emphasize his point, he turned away from his captor and focused his attention out of the dank window. Both knew that it was a lie, but neither felt comfortable enough to break that newly formed silence.

The man stared at him for a moment longer, before he shook his head and continued on his way into the bathroom. Confident in the fact that Seth was securely bound to the bed, he even locked the door. That was his first mistake. Once Seth heard the comforting _slush_ of the water, he started to shift his weight. He might have been too weak to yank down his arms, but he could certainly use his entire body to even out the odds. His heart nearly stopped when the stick snapped.

He was free. He was finally _free_, damn it. And now that that stick had snapped, he didn't know what to do with himself. How could he ever go back to Dean and Roman? Why would they want someone as damaged as him? Questions such as these swirled about in his head, but nevertheless, he knew that he had to get out of that hotel room. If he didn't leave soon, the man would come out of the shower and all of his hard work would be for nothing.

Tumbling off of the bed, he reached into the man's suitcase and took one of the knives and a few smaller weapons, wanting to arm himself – just in case. Stuffing them into his back pocket, he made a beeline for the door. The shower was still running, he still had time. But it still made him nervous, that three minute lapse between the bed and the door. And then finally, he reached the door. Unlocking it with a careful steadiness he didn't think he possessed, he opened the door and ran out into the hallway.

He took the staircase, not wanting to waste time with the elevator. Dean and Roman's room was on the second floor. By the time he had cleared the staircase, he knew that the man wasn't following him. Finding the room number, A-213, he rushed over to it and slammed his fist onto the wooden door repeatedly. It only took a minute for Dean to answer. As soon as the door was opened, Seth thrust himself into his ex-lover's arms, just wanting to feel his warmth once more.

"Seth?" Dean stumbled back, not wrapping his arms around Seth to return the embrace.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me. It's Seth." Seth rambled on, desperate to make Dean believe that he was real, to reassure the brunette that he wasn't a twisted projection of his overactive imagination.

Dean shoved him off, almost forcing him back out the door. "Don't touch me." He didn't yell it, just stated it plainly. "What the hell are you doing here, Seth? I thought you found some other guy to shove his dick up your ass."

"W-What?" Seth stuttered. How could Dean think such a thing? Did Roman think that too?

"You heard me the first time. I don't see why I should repeat myself." Dean hissed.

Seth blinked back a few tears, remembering the brutal abuse that he had endured. And this was exactly what he had feared. "Dean… Dean… how could you ever think that I would do that? I've _never_ been unfaithful before!"

"There's a first time for everything." Dean muttered.

Seth wanted to sob, but he couldn't do it. "Please, don't say that." And then, "Are you bleeding, Dean?"

Dean looked down, noticing the blood dribbling down from the wound on his arm. It stood in stark contrast with the white of his skin, making it all the more noticeable, even in the dark of the room. Seth reached for it, wanting to make it better for his master – falling back into the routine that was so easy for him to believe in, a routine that was safe for him. It made him feel loved and cared for. But Dean yanked his arm back. Apparently, he didn't want to love and support Seth right now.

Dean wandered into the hotel room, taking one of the complimentary towels and wrapping it around his arm, sopping up the blood. He shot a cursory look back at Seth, telling him that he could either come in now or could walk away – but not expect to be welcomed back. Seth didn't feel too welcome right now, truth be told. But he did come in. He came in and carefully sat down at the foot of the bed, ignoring the bloody knife he could see in the bathroom sink…

"You want to tell me why you're here?" Dean asked. He still made no move to close the distance between them. But now, he had a glass of whiskey in hand. "'Cause I have a hard time believing that you just dropped out of the sky."

"I didn't." Seth swallowed hard. "I was in the hotel. I've_ always_ been in the hotel."

"So you and your lover-boy have been fucking down the hall? That's wonderful." Dean finished off his drink in one swallow.

"He r… He ra…" Seth looked away and swallowed hard once more. "I think that he might have hurt Roman."

"Who? Your lover?" Dean asked. Seth had little choice but to refer to him as such. "And why would he want to hurt Roman? It takes a lot of energy to hurt Roman. Energy that could be easily expended elsewhere."

Seth stared into Dean's eyes. "Because he was obviously mistaken in the idea that you two would fight for me. He saw Roman as the greater challenge. He came back with blood on him and I'm… I'm scared."

Dean rolled his eyes, getting himself more whiskey. "Oh, what a shame. Poor Sethie is scared."

"I don't appreciate you not taking me seriously." Seth said.

"And what am I supposed to say, Seth? I'm sorry about your _trouble in paradise_? It was nice seeing you? Don't let the door hit you on the way out?" Dean asked.

"You know what? If that's how you feel, I'll find Roman myself." Seth climbed off the bed and rushed back out the door, but not before turning back to face Dean. "And just so you know, I would _never_ hurt you like that. I just couldn't do it."

And then he left.


	15. The Letter

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Self-Harm, Non-Con, etc.

* * *

Tears streaked down Seth's face. He felt sick to his stomach, unable to believe that Dean would reject him like that. If Dean didn't want him, how could he ever expect Roman to welcome him back? Roman's reaction to almost any situation was violence. Seth wasn't sure that he could take any more abuse. If he did, he was certain that his body would just break apart. He would be destroyed and it would all be because he couldn't tell Dean he was raped.

Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, he stumbled out of the front of the hotel and into the darkness. He had to find Roman. Even if he didn't _want_ to find Roman, he knew that he had to. If Roman died, he knew that he would blame himself. He would fall further and further into depression and would end up like Dean – a bleeding arm and a bloody knife in the bathroom sink. He needed to save himself. And he needed to try and save Dean and Roman.

Not knowing where to look, and more than a little bit afraid of the things that haunt the dark, Seth crossed the street and inspected the sidewalk around him. He didn't know why, but he had a hunch that Roman was nearby the hotel. As it turned out, that hunch was correct. Turning around the corner, he found a splotch of black on the otherwise grayish sidewalk. Illuminated by the dull splatter of light from the streetlamp, it turned out to be dark red.

Seth's heart froze in his chest. Could this be where Roman had been? Could this be where his attacker had killed Roman? His stomach churned as he fell to his knees a few centimeters away from the blood splatter. That bastard couldn't have killed Roman. He couldn't have. But what unsettled him most was the fact that most of the blood was concentrated at where Roman's head would have been. He could have died from blunt force trauma, or worse…

And then, in the dark, he noticed a slip of white paper a few feet away from the mess of blood. It lay there, the occasional splatter of red on the white… but otherwise, it was just so perfect. Maybe it was a note from Roman. Maybe it was the last words going through Roman's head before he died. Or maybe Roman wasn't dead at all. Seth just didn't know. But what he _did_ know was that he needed to read it to find out.

It read:

_It's unfortunate that it needs to be like this. I can't do this anymore. I can't be like this anymore. I'm the reason that Seth left us, the reason that everyone eventually leaves us. I'm well aware that I'm the only one to blame. And so this is goodbye. I write this in my last moments, hoping that it will get finished before I die. But the flow of blood is a little faster than I had anticipated… and, to be honest, I'm scared._

_If I could say one thing before I die, it's that I still love Seth. I haven't said it enough, I know, and I know that saying it now is much too late to change anything, but…. I don't know. I've never been very good with words. But I do love Seth, and Dean as well. Even in death, nothing will change that. You'll find someone else to take my place. You'll find someone better. There's no reason to mourn the one whose already be forgotten, after all._

The letter trembled in Seth's hands. He couldn't believe that Roman would kill himself. It didn't make any sense at all. Roman wasn't like that. Wouldn't he have seen signs? And that didn't explain why his attacker was drenched in blood that quite obviously wasn't his own. What exactly had happened back there? Seth was almost certain that he would never know, but… he knew that this couldn't be right.

He let the letter fall into the mess of blood, not caring that the words written on the slip of paper were lost forever. Roman wasn't dead. He was certain that he would be able to tell that his bigger lover was dead, he'd be able to _feel_ it. And he knew that he wasn't. Roman was still out there somewhere. This, of course, only left one question. Where the hell had the bigger man gone?

* * *

**Earlier That Night**

Roman awoke to a cold hand on his cheek and the worried voices of two females above him. He blinked blearily, only able to see them through a film of red. "Wha…"

"Oh, thank God he's awake!" The first woman, a dirty blonde, exclaimed to her friend. She had a rather faint British accent. "Katie, call an ambulance."

"No. No, don't call an ambulance." Roman slurred. Where the hell was he? And why did he feel like a tractor trailer had run him down? "Where… where am I?" He coughed, blood splattering on his hand. "What the fuck?"

"You poor thing." The two-tone haired woman knelt beside him. Her friend had called her 'Katie'. "You're on the side of the street, about a block from the hotel. We don't know what happened to you."

"What do you mean?" Roman groaned as he tried to sit up. "What do you mean 'what happened to me'?"

"Don't move!" The one with the British accent warned. "We think that you may have cracked your ribs."

Vaguely, he remembered vomiting blood earlier that evening. "Who _are_ you?"

They shared a look, before Katie answered, "Kaitlin and Layla, from the roster." She stated matter-of-factly. "We were out with a few friends, and when we turned the corner, you were on the ground and some man was running off."

Roman's eyes widened. "What the fuck did that bastard do to me?"

He tried to sit up again, but Layla tenderly pushed him down. "It's probably best that you don't see."

But Roman's will was stronger. He pushed back, maybe a little bit harder than necessary, and Layla stumbled back. Layla and Kaitlin shared a look, waiting for the inevitable explosion, but it never came. Roman simply stared at his body, brown eyes slowly taking in the grotesque scene, and remained utterly silent. Perhaps it was the silence that scared them more, but neither could know for sure.

Roman seemed most concerned about the fact that blood stained the inside of his thighs, however, and that his pants had been lowered and unzipped. He was thankful that that hadn't been the focus on the women's attention, but since he had only woken a few minutes ago, he couldn't be entirely certain about that. Feeling sick, he leaned over, emptying the contents of his stomach into the gutter. Luckily, Kaitlin and Layla looked away.

Once he was finished, he wiped his mouth on the back of his arm (a little disheartened to find even more blood on his tanned skin), and carefully started to climb to his feet. Layla offered him her hand, but he refused it. Roman didn't need anyone's charity, especially after what had happened (if that was even what had happened; nobody could know for certain). When he was finally on his feet, he rocked back and forth unsteadily.

And then, as if to preserve whatever was left of his modesty, he zipped up the front of his pants (unable to button them, due to the fact that his button was now floating down in the gutter). The women stared at him uncertainly, as if he would suddenly collapse and die at their feet. Thankfully, nothing that drastic occurred. Instead, he sort of stumbled forward. He reached out for the nearest wall and straightened himself before he fell.

"Where is Seth?" It was the only thing he could think to ask, the only thing that he could actually _remember_.

The women shared a look. Kaitlin was the first to answer. "We… we don't know where Seth is. He wasn't at the party or anything. Why? Is he missing?"

Roman nodded distractedly, not liking the way that it made the world swim around him. Layla added, "I mean, the last time that we saw him, he was leaving with someone… I didn't see his face, but he was on the bigger side."

Roman raised an eyebrow. "Bigger as in?"

"Muscular." Layla cleared up.

"Do either of you know what his name was? Any other distinctive details? _Anything_?"

Kaitlin shrugged. "You guys aren't exactly hailed as heroes on the roster. It could've been anyone, really. And I doubt that, if someone did know, they'd rat him out. They probably wouldn't think you're in any real danger."

Roman growled low in his throat, his bloody muscles bulging. What happened on the screen was scripted, it wasn't like they _actually_ had a personal vendetta against these people. Anyone that they attacked would have to be an absolute moron to take it personally once the cameras went off. But then, right now, they weren't dealing with a moron. They were dealing with an incredibly smart mastermind.

"Are you sure that you're okay?" Layla added. "You look a little sick."

Roman shook his head, looking away from them. "I'm fine. I don't need your pity."

Kaitlin looked uncertain. "Are you sure?"

_"I said that I'm fine. Back off!"_ He screamed, venom dripping from every word.

Roman's eyes widened. He hadn't meant to snap like that. But his lower back and ass had started to burn, further confirming his worst fear. He had wanted so desperately to believe that that bastard hadn't done anything to him, but the evidence supported a different theory. Thinking that he had taken him out of the equation permanently, he had raped him. But Roman was stronger than he had given him credit for.

Without saying another word to the two girls, he started to stumble off in the opposite direction of the hotel. He didn't even notice when a slip of crumbled paper fell out of his hand, bouncing on the concrete and rolling toward the mess of blood. The two women didn't touch it. In fact, they avoided it as if it would suddenly come alive and burn them. No, they simply stood there and watched as Roman stumbled away, leaving a bloody trail behind him…

* * *

Dean looked into the mirror uncertainly. He knew that it was wrong to turn Seth away like that. Seth deserved a lot better. But he still didn't know why Seth had left, and for all he knew, he could have been cheating on them the entire time. But he shook his head, immediately dismissing the idea. Seth wasn't like that. He wasn't vindictive. Even if he was absolutely done with them, he would talk with them before turning on them like that.

He peeled the towel away from his arm, inspecting the congealed blood over the long cut that stood mere centimeters from a major artery. If he had cut just a few centimeters over, he wouldn't have been able to answer the door. He would have been dead. And for some reason, that idea didn't scare him as much as it should. Instead, he let his dark eyes flicker up to the mirror. Even the mirror reflected a man who was already dead.

"I'm sorry, Seth." He whispered, retrieving the knife out of the sink. The water that dripped from the faucet had cleaned most of the blood off the blade. "But I can't do this without you."

It only took one flick of the wrist, before the knife fell out of his hand and he stumbled back, his back colliding with the side of the shower. He sank down to the floor, reveling in the way the world flickered in and out of focus in front of him. It was only a matter of time now. And without Seth and Roman, it wouldn't really matter. Nobody would miss him. Nobody would care. And with those thoughts in mind, he closed his eyes.


	16. Into the Night (A)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Self-Harm, etc.

* * *

In his debilitated state, it took him almost a half-hour to travel a half-mile downhill to the local Wal-Mart. It was a twenty-four hour store, so he didn't doubt that _someone_ would be behind the customer service desk. Whether or not they would be hospitable to a man in his condition at three o' clock in the morning was a different story, however. But it was worth the risk. He needed some towels, antiseptic, pain medication, and hot water. And he needed to be away from that bloody sidewalk.

He went in through the 'out' automatic door, holding onto his cracked ribs as if they were his lifeline. It was amazing how the slightest bit of pressure applied there could make him scream out in agony, but it hurt that much worse if he took his arm away. He looked around, hoping to find someone within close proximity to help him. The occasional cashier rung up an early riser's groceries, but other than that, there wasn't a soul to be found. That would be just his luck.

Sucking in as deep a breath as he could muster, he started to move toward the customer service desk (conveniently located by the _other_ entrance). His boots left bloody prints on the white tile, causing one of the early riser's to scream like a little girl. Roman paid them no mind. He didn't have any time to be considerate of them, after all. If he stopped, then he would be done, and he couldn't afford to take that sort of risk. Not with so much on the line.

Once he finally arrived at the customer service desk, he found himself face-to-face with a bottle blonde lazily popping bright yellow bubbles to pass the time. But when she saw him, however, she nearly had a conniption. For a second, she considered hitting the panic button under the counter. When she saw that he was unarmed, however, she climbed over the counter and helped him into the nearest seat. As soon as he stopped, he felt like he would upchuck again.

"What the hell happened to you, man?" She slurred. Maybe she was a little drunk, Roman couldn't really tell and, to be honest, he didn't really care. He just needed some supplies to tend to his wounds.

"I have… I have money. I need… I need medical supplies." Roman stuttered. With a shaky hand, he reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. "Just t-take it. I don't.. I don't know how much it will cost."

"Okay. Okay." Her hands trembled as she opened the wallet and peered inside. "Tell me what you need, okay?"

"I need a towel, gauze, Tylenol, and access to hot water." Roman slurred. "I'm bloody and I just need to be able to clean myself off. Do you think that you can do that for me?"

She nodded. "Yeah, sure, whatever you want. There are showers around the back, employee only and what not. But I can have the maintenance men unlock it for you. You can wash up then."

"Okay." Roman leaned back, closing his eyes. "Thank you."

"Are you sure that you don't need anything else? A soda, maybe? Water?" She asked.

Roman swallowed hard, realizing how dry his throat was after throwing up for the second time that night. "Yeah, water would be nice." He eventually caved in, "Thank you."

She went around behind the desk and called the 'Home Furnishing' department, calling down a representative in order to have the towels delivered to Roman. Then, she called the maintenance men down so that the showers could be unlocked. Seconds later, a whole mess of towels were rushed down. Wetting the end of one of the towels, she handed it to the Samoan as they waited for the washroom to be unlocked. Roman wiped his face clean of the blood, realizing that he must've looked a mess.

"Are you sure that you don't want me to call an ambulance?" She asked. "You really look like shit, mister."

Roman laughed bitterly, but this degenerated into a cough that stained the white towel red. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me." Roman swallowed hard. "Is that water coming soon?"

The representative from the Home Furnishing department handed him a water bottle. "Sorry, that's why it took me so long. Billy took his break and couldn't answer the call."

Roman cracked the lid and started to drink, feeling the water dribble from the corner of his mouth and, tinged pink, drip from his chin. "Do you… Do you want to tell us what happened? We're here to listen, if you want?"

Roman swallowed hard, trying to ignore the throbbing pain at the base of his back. "Not really."

Never one to take no for an answer, the other woman continued to push. "Are you sure? I mean, we don't want to be pushy.. but we're worried about you." She finished lamely.

"Are those showers open yet?" Roman asked, blatantly ignoring her question. There were just some demons that he wasn't ready to face.

"Yeah, the showers are open." She answered nonchalantly. She shared a look with her friend, before they helped Roman to his feet, stuffing the items that he had requested into his arms. Roman didn't listen to a word that they said.

He stumbled into the shower, thankful for that fact that the showers were automatic. Without even bothering to take off his clothes, he fell to the floor and let the shower wash away all evidence of the brutal rape that he had endured. Reaching into the pill bottle, he took out two ovular Tylenols and downed them with ease. And then he let his head fall back against the marble tile, closed his eyes, and tried to fall asleep.

But trying to sleep with the pain that his body was in was like trying to get blood from a stone.


	17. Into the Night (B)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Self-Harm, etc.

* * *

Paul Heyman had been awakened by the sound of a sharp, resounding _thud_ from the hotel room above him. Thinking it was merely a group of overzealous kids who thought that they could get away with fucking all through the night, inconsiderate of the needs of others, he had taken an umbrella from his suitcase and smacked the ceiling a few times, yelling for them to calm down. There was no answer. In fact, there was no sound. It had become so quiet that he could hear the rush of water from the sink upstairs, but no movement from the bathroom…

Not at all concerned about this (which, maybe he should have been, he would later reflect), he climbed back into bed. Sleep came easily. Unconcerned with the goings on above him, he drifted back into an easy slumber. That was, of course, until that resounding _thud_ turned into a fleshy sort of _smack_. It was the sort of sound that a wet, naked body would make once it hit the tile. What the hell were they doing now? Had the party moved to the shower? Disturbed by the idea, he reluctantly climbed out of bed, donned his umbrella, and entered the bathroom.

He smacked the ceiling with all of the force that he could muster – which, admittedly, wasn't a whole heck of a lot – and was satisfied to find little slivers of plaster start to rain down all around him. The sound had stopped just as soon as it had started, but that didn't stop Heyman from throwing a few expletives their way anyhow. Who the hell did they think they were? It was some ungodly hour of the morning, he didn't even want to look and find out what _exact_ time it was, and they were up there having a grand old time. Learn some manners!

Back in bed, he was easily able to fall back asleep, as no more sounds resounded from that room for several minutes. That was, of course, until the soft _drip, drip, drop_ of water met his ears. Begrudgingly, he cracked one eye open and looked into the bathroom. A wet spot had appeared on the ceiling, where water had undoubtedly leaked out onto the floor in the room above, and it had now started to seep through his ceiling. And, as if to make matters worse, the water was tinged pink. Heyman didn't know why, and he didn't _want_ to know why.

His umbrella having an entirely different purpose now, he made his way back into the bathroom (after putting on shoes, of course, because he didn't want whatever was in the water to infect him in some way) and stared at the ceiling. What _was_ going on up there? And why did it have to happen at all hours of the night – to him, no less? If this had been Brock, he would have stormed up there and taught the couple a bloody lesson they wouldn't soon forget. Unfortunately, Heyman wasn't quite as callous. And, to be honest, he was a little afraid.

So he went back in to the main hotel room, sat down on the bed, and dialed the number for the front desk. "_Hello, this is the front desk night shift. My name is Maryse. What can I do for you?"_

"Yes, this is Paul Heyman, room 213. I've been having several problems with the couple in the room above me. Disturbances and what not. And now, there is reddish water leaking from my bathroom ceiling." He explained.

"_Oh, dear."_ Heyman rolled his eyes. She must be one of those doe-eyed types, he decided absently. "_What would you like me to do about it, sir? Would you like me to send up security?"_

"Yes." He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes again. No, he didn't want her to send up security. He'd called her because he was enjoying the sound effects and the blood water in his bathroom. "Yes, that would be wonderful."

"_Okay. I will do that for you sir."_ A pause. "_What room did you say that this couple was in?"_

If he could have strangled her through the phone, he probably would have. "Room 313, right above mine."

"_Okay. Thank you for your call, sir. Security should be up shortly. If you have any more problems, don't hesitate to call. We are available night and day, twenty-four/seven. Thank you for staying with us."_

"Of course." Heyman forced a sickly sweet smile. He hung up the phone, "And I never will again."

Thankfully, no more sounds came from the room above head. He fell back onto the bed, thankful that WWE was gracious enough to let him room alone. The last time he attempted to fall asleep was successful. Soon, he forgot about the bloody water leaking from the ceiling in the bathroom, or the disconcerting thuds that he had heard just minutes before that had occurred. Now, only the darkness was left. And he welcomed in happily, because he was unbelievably tired.

* * *

The first security officer knocked on the door. There was no response. "Excuse me? Is there anyone in there?" He called out, hoping that, if there was someone inside, they could hear him over the _drip, drip, drop_ of the water.

"Listen, man, I don't think anyone's in there. We should just head back to the office and call it a night." His partner said, his thumbs hooked in the loops of his blue standard-issue pants. "What do you say?"

"I say that Maryse is gonna string us up by our short and curlies if we don't go inside and check it out, at the very least. What if that actually _is_ bloody water? That's a health hazard." The first one pointed out.

The second man frowned. "Both keys are gone, and I'm not gonna be the idiot that kicks down the door. I hope you're not either."

A shrug, followed by a slow trek to the other side of the hall, was the only answer he received. "I've never been known to be the smartest."

His partner held up his hands in a show of innocence. "Whatever. I'm not getting involved, man. I don't want to see some dude's naked ass."

He shot him a casual look. "What if someone's dead in there? You'd be fine just walking away and leaving them to rot?"

A dark look came over his face. "Dude, that's none of my concern! I didn't kill the bastard, now did I? Worst case scenario, the lady fell gettin' out of the shower or something like that. I don't think it was _murder._"

"Well, we'll never know unless we look. I'm going in, whether you're following me or not." And with that, he charged shoulder-first at the door and watched as it caved underneath his weight a little too easily.

Much to his partner's glee, there were no bare-assed men in the room. In fact, there was nobody there at all. It was clear that someone had been there recently, however, because there was a bottle of alcohol on the table and a half-finished glass beside it. The first man entered inside, carefully stepping over the broken door, his eyes scanning the room to try and find the owner of that half-empty glass. And that's when he saw the bloody towel thrown over the back of one of the elegant, ornate wooden chairs.

The blood was much too fresh to be more than a few hours hold. His stomach rolled as he walked in a large half-circle around the chair, making sure that he wouldn't touch it. In doing that, the bathroom came into view. For the first time, he realized that the water in the bathtub was running. A man was sprawled over the side of the tub, his bleeding arm in the water. He was dressed only in a pair of sweatpants, which were drenched in the bloody water. It was an awful sight.

His head was in the water, but that didn't look to be intentional. The water was cold as ice, so the security officer assumed that he had been trying to stop the bleeding. But when the water stopped draining, his face had ended up under the water and he couldn't breathe. Not even thinking about what he was doing, he took hold of the man's waist and pulled him out of the water. Instantly, he was able to recognize him as Dean Ambrose from the WWE faction 'The Shield'.

When he fell onto the tile floor, his head lolled to the side and water leaked out of the corner of his mouth. The security officer set his head on the man's chest, listening for breathing. It was there, but it sounded kinda like he was gurgling. Pressing his hands down on the man's abdomen, he started to pump firmly. If there was any chance of him surviving, he needed to make sure that he had all of the water out of his lungs. The water left his lungs fairly easily, but he was still semi-conscious and barely holding on.

"Dude!" He called to his partner, who was still lingering in the doorway. He couldn't believe that he had really stayed out there like a coward. "Dude, I need backup! C'mon, man! He's gonna bleed out!"

All of a sudden, he was at his side. "What the hell happened in here? It looks like a massacre."

"I think he may have cut himself, but I don't know for sure." He took off his coat and wrapped it around Dean's arm, forming a sort of tourniquet, trying to stop the bleeding. "I do know, however, that I need you to call 911."

He was already on the phone with them. "_911 – What's your emergency?"_

"I have a man that's about to bleed out. He's got water in his lungs and his arm has a long cut on it."

"_Alright, sir. Can you tell me how his pulse is?"_ He informed her that it was low, but still present. "_What about his breathing? You said that there was water in his lungs."_ He continued on to say that his breathing was labored, but most of the water was out. "_Your location, sir?"_

He gave her the name of the hotel. "How long until the ambulance gets here, then?"

"_About twenty minutes. Stay on the line, alright, and make sure that he's conscious."_ And, at that exact moment, Dean forced his hazed eyes open.


	18. Into The Night (C)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Self-Harm, etc.

* * *

Seth's hands trembled as he read over the letter for what seemed like the hundredth time. Even as he read the familiar words, there was something about them that just didn't mesh. For one, it wasn't Roman's handwriting. Roman was a messy writer, especially if he was under pressure. However, the lines on this note were distinct, each line carefully separated from the next. And, remarkably, there wasn't a lot of blood on it. For all of the blood concentrated at Roman's head, the note was remarkably pristine.

And, as he read over the contents again, he realized that it didn't even sound like something Roman would write. Roman wasn't suicidal. Even without Seth in his life, he still had Dean to take care of. Roman was in his prime when he had someone to take care of, and he certainly wouldn't risk his life just so he could be the one to hammer the nail into the coffin. Roman loved them. Not that he would ever say it out loud, but he did. He loved them, and this – this just wasn't like him. This, of course, posed his next question. Who _did_ write the letter?

All of a sudden, he remembered his attacker slithering into the room. There was fresh blood on his body, mostly focused on his big, meaty hands. The man was a goliath, but what he remembered most about him where his horrendously gargantuan hands. They had left stains of crimson red all over the hotel room on the way to the shower. That, and his face was streaked in blood as well. It wasn't Seth's blood, so whose was it? And how exactly did he intend to find out? It wasn't like he was jumping at the chance to run back to that hotel room.

Carefully, he folded the note into fours and stuffed it into his back pocket. He was walking the streets alone in the middle of the night, and in light of recent events, he needed to keep all of his attention focused on his welfare. Turning the corner, he kept close to the wall, making sure that there was always a functioning street lamp in his line of sight. Nothing was worth his life. And while he would give his life for either man, he needed to live to find them first. The light above him flickered. With a hissing spit, it went out entirely. Wonderful.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when his cell phone vibrated in his back pocket. Putting a hand over his heart, he pulled it out and answered the call without even looking at the Caller ID. "Hello? You've reached Seth."

"_Ah, Seth. I'm glad that you're still awake. My name is Dr. White, and I am the doctor assigned to Mr. Dean Ambrose. I'm calling because you're listed as Dean's emergency contact."_ The doctor said.

Seth's eyebrows furrowed. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would I…" he trailed off uncertainly. He realized that Dean must've never taken him off the emergency contact list. "We haven't… We haven't been in contact recently. What's the problem with him?"

"_I'm not sure that that is the kind of information you want me to disclose over the phone, Mr. Rollins."_ The doctor said, her tone suddenly serious. "_If you can, I would ask that you come down to the hospital as soon as possible."_

Seth's heart constricted in his chest and suddenly it became ten-times harder to breathe. "Of course. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"_Very good."_ Dr. White said. "_Also, would you happen to know an alternate number for a Mr. Roman Reigns. I haven't been able to reach him."_

Seth looked down at the dried blood flaked on his hands. "I'd like to know the same thing." He mumbled.

A moment of silence passed between them, before they both suddenly realized that neither had hung up. "_What was that that you said?"_ She asked, honestly curious.

"Nothing. I'm sorry, but I don't know any alternate numbers that you can use to reach Roman." Shakily, he sucked a harsh breath in. "I'll be there in a little while. Thanks for calling."

He hung up before the doctor could say another word. He really didn't want to listen to anything else that she had to say. Nothing would change the nature of the situation. Dean was in the hospital and nobody knew where Roman was. He didn't know who he should be more afraid for. And it was so emotionally exhausting to worry after both of them at all hours of the day. Now, at the very least, he was able to focus in on Dean. At the moment, the letter in his back pocket was forgotten.

He didn't even know where he was. Pulling out his cell phone, he put in the name of the hospital and searched for the fastest route there. As it turned out, he was only a few minutes away. He turned around and broke out in a run, not caring anymore if the lights were out or not. His lungs burned for oxygen, but he couldn't stop. Some of his wounds tore open and fresh blood poured out over his skin, but he didn't let it stop him. He only stopped when he stood outside of the automatic doors of the emergency room.

* * *

"My name is Seth Rollins. I received a call about fifteen minutes ago from Dr. White saying that my boyfriend had been brought in, but wouldn't tell me what his injury was or how bad it was." Seth told the receptionist breathlessly.

"Seth – I can honestly say that I didn't expect you to make it here _that_ fast." Dr. White said. "It's okay, Betty, I can take it from here."

Seth stared into her eyes, terrified for his lover. "What's the matter with him, doctor? What happened to him?"

"Well, that's a long story. I don't know all of the information, only what the security officers were able to tell us." She said. "He was found in the bathroom, his arm cut, and his head in the freezing cold water."

Seth's face crumbled. His hands trembled uncontrollably and he stuffed them into his pockets, trying to make it less noticeable. "Did he… Oh, God… Did he drown? Was he breathing when they found him?"

"He wasn't breathing. They had to force the water out of his lungs and even then, it was still touch and go for a while. He's awake now and we've introduced mood stabilizing medication into his system for the time being."

Seth nodded – this was all so much to take in at once. "Can I go in and see him?"

She smiled. It was oddly charming and calmed him somewhat. "Of course. He's in the third room on the left."

Seth had to control the urge to run down the hallway and see his lover. Even if Dean didn't want him there, it didn't matter. He _needed_ to be with him. Breathing heavily, stars flashing before his eyes, he tumbled into the third room on the left – barely managing to not knock over thousands of dollars in expensive medical equipment – and threw himself down in the EZ-chair at Dean's bedside. Dean watched all of this with a tired, slightly drunken look in his eyes. It must've been all the drinking he had done before Seth had gotten there.

God, had that only been a few hours? It felt like a lifetime ago. He ran a hand through his sweaty two-toned locks, clutching his chest with the other one. The last thing he needed to do was have a heart attack while his boyfriend suffered because of _him_. And it was then that Seth realized he blamed himself for all of this. If only he had come out about the letters sooner, if only he had said something to Dean or Roman… he wouldn't be sitting at Dean's bedside, watching as the man stared at anything but him, nursing a stitched-up arm to his chest.

"Dean, I -," Seth started breathlessly, not knowing what else to say.

"Save it, Seth." Dean spat back, his temper flaring. "Why are you even here, anyhow? I certainly don't want you here."

Unbidden, tears started to bubble in Seth's eyes. "I know that you don't want me here, Dean. But I'm here because of this," he tapped Dean's arm gently, careful to avoid the neat, pinkish stitches.

"Oh, because I cut myself, you suddenly expect me to think that you give a damn? You walked out on us, Seth. All we wanted to do was find out what was wrong with you, and what do we get in return? You fucking _hit_ me."

Seth flinched, remembering that incident. "I know, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean scoffed, turning away from the smaller man. "Yeah, well, sorry doesn't cut it this time."

"You cut yourself because of me?" It wasn't a question, just a statement. Dean's lack of response, however, was more of an answer than he could have ever asked for. "Dean, I'm not worth -,"

"I know you're not worth it! Don't you think I figured that you already?" Dean spat back in his face.

Seth fell back into the chair, his heart shattering in his chest. He couldn't believe it. While he knew that no amount of 'I'm sorrys' would ever make this 'okay', he could at least hope that Dean could start to see it from his point-of-view. The tears that had started to bubble in Seth's eyes finally boiled over, falling down his cheeks in messy patterns. Quickly, he tried to clean them away before Dean could see, but Dean saw all. He scoffed, shooting Seth a look of absolute disbelief. Seth sighed.

"You're not the only one that's hurting, Dean." He confessed softly.

"What now? Come to tell me about trouble in paradise, huh? Let me be frank with you, Sethie. I'm not in the mood to hear it -," but Seth cut him off.

"I was raped, Dean."


	19. The Talk With Dean

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Self-Harm, etc.

* * *

"W-What?" Dean stuttered. His dark hazel eyes were wide with disbelief.

"You heard me the first time, Dean." Seth leveled him with a heated stare. "I was raped."

"Seth…" there was raw compassion in his voice, so honest that it sounded like his heart was bleeding in his chest. But then, his eyes turned hard, "If this is some sort of sick joke, I can tell you right now that I'm not laughing."

Seth's eyes widened. "Why the hell would I joke about something like this? This is too important to lie about! That's why I ran to you! I was scared and I thought you would understand – but when I walked in, I saw you were bleeding and drunk, and far past my reach."

"Yeah, because of you. Bleeding and drunk _because of you_. I don't think you understand what your leaving did to us, Seth. Roman… he's a mess. God only knows where he is. I didn't follow him because he made it very clear how much he wanted to see me." Dean spat out.

Seth's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the neat line of white stitches on Dean's arm. "You cut yourself… because of me?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at his younger lover, holding back the urge to snap. "Haven't I made that fucking clear already?"

Seth looked away. He drew his knees up into his chest, trying to make himself comfortable in the tiny chair. "If I'm not worth all of the trouble, why would you hurt yourself _because of me_? You should have just forgotten about me."

Dean stared down at his wounded arm, thinking about all the pain medication in his system. "Maybe I should have."

"But you didn't." Seth continued, knowing that he was treading in stormy waters. "Why?"

"You were always convinced that I was a crazy fuck." Dean ran his good hand through his hair, refusing to look at Seth.

"Or maybe it's because you still love me." Seth offered blandly.

The words hung between them uncomfortably, neither willing to speak on the matter. Seth knew that he had hit a nerve. He could tell, just by watching Dean's _subtle_ movements, that he had hurt him. Love was not a word that Dean was overly fond of. Like Roman, Dean had his own monsters in the closet that he would eventually have to deal with. He had never come out and confessed his love for Seth, it was just a given. Until now, of course. Now, no matter how he answered Seth, he would have to vocalize it – one way or the other.

And then, in a sudden blur of movement, he slammed his fist down onto his stitched arm, grimacing as blood bubbled up through the stitches. It was a horrible, gruesome sight, and Seth could see the veins stand on his arms with stressed pointedness as each wave of pain wracked his body. To be frank, he looked awful. He looked as if he hadn't slept in ages and a dark, dirty crown of fingerprints stood hidden just beneath the messy tousle of his hair. A fight with Roman gone awry, most likely. Not that Dean would ever admit to that out loud.

After a few moments, the uncomfortable silence that hung between them morphed into something akin to comfort, or merely the acknowledgement that, for all it was worth (which wasn't much), Seth wasn't going anywhere. Finally, when Dean yanked his dirty, bloody fingers away from his wound and buried them in the blankets, he forced himself to look at Seth once more. For the first time, he realized that Seth didn't look as healthy as he had first imagined he would. Instead, he looked thin, frail, and above all, broken.

"I should call the nurse; you really mangled your stitches." Seth said absently. His eyes were dark and lost, caught between duty for his former master and hatred toward himself for not seeing how broken Dean was from the start.

"Don't bother. It's just a scratch. It'll stop bleeding eventually." Both of them knew that that was a lie. He'd die of blood loss before it stopped bleeding, but it was enough to stop Seth from calling the nurse.

Seth sniffled, not bothering to move from his curled-up position. "I should have told you all of this from the start, I know that. But I was scared. I was scared, and my fear cost us more than I could have ever imagined. I have to live with that forever. But you… you don't."

"You should have told us _what_, Seth?" Dean pushed, obviously not in the mood to play games.

Seth choked back a sob. "About the _letters_!"

"What letters?" Dean looked confused, but only until Seth started to throw folded-up pieces of paper at him.

Seth had tried as best he could to throw the letters away. But something deep inside of him, something altogether wicked and self-destructive, had forced him to fold them back up and stuff them into his pocket. Every one of them was there, from the letter he had received after the mess on New Year's Eve to the suicide note from Roman. He trembled as he unearthed them all, feeling as if it was an endless fountain of raw emotion that couldn't be quenched with water, no, it thirsted for _blood_. And the thirst was unquenchable.

Dean read them over carefully, letting the letter fall down to the blood splattered bed when he had no need for it anymore. Seth saw a little bit of himself in the brunette as he read the letters over, maybe once, maybe several times. He could see himself in that hotel bathroom, getting so worked up that he had to throw up several times. He could hear Dean and Roman on the other side of the door, worrying about him. Asking to come in. Why had he been so blind? Why wouldn't he let them inside? Couldn't he see that they loved him?

"Do you mean to tell me that the man that wrote these letters in the one that raped you?" Dean asked suddenly.

"To be honest, I really don't know. I never actually _saw_ him write the letters. But whoever it was that wrote the letters had me convinced that the word there was undisputed law, and I was foolish enough to believe them. I'm sorry for that." Seth said honestly.

Dean stared at one of the letters silently, before he added, "How could you ever believe this… this _creep_ over us?"

Seth's eyes started to water. "I really _wanted_ to believe you! I did! But then there was the whole fight with Roman -,"

Seth cut himself off when he heard Dean crumple one of the letters into a ball. There was no doubt in his mind that that was Roman's suicide note. "We're not here to talk about Roman. We're here to talk about you and _this_…" he motioned to the letters.

"I never wanted to hurt you guys." Seth whispered hoarsely, honestly.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, well, it's a little late for that."

Seth's eyes suddenly turned hard and steely. "Look, I know that you're hurt and I know that you blame me, but I'm putting my heart out on the line and asking that maybe, just maybe, you understand that _I'm_ hurt too."

"All I wanted to do was help you, Seth. That's all either of us wanted to do. And you walked out on us." Dean said.

Seth swallowed hard, unable to meet Dean's eyes anymore. "I already told you that I was sorry for that."

"Yeah? Well, maybe sorry doesn't cut it anymore." Dean whispered.

The air was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Seth sucked in a harsh breath, amazed at how it seemed that much louder in the blunt silence of the room. He tried to shrink in on himself, tried to hide himself from Dean's imploring gaze. It didn't work. Instead, Dean only continued to stare at him harder, his dark hazel eyes burning holes into Seth's skin. Seth had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable. He didn't know whether to shake with fear or to narrow his eyes right back at the other man. He did neither.

"Sorry doesn't cut it anymore, Seth. It's not your fault that this man raped you, I'd never say that. But all we wanted to do was help you, and you turned your back on us. Now, you're sitting there, asking for help that two broken men can't even give themselves."

Seth blinked, confusion clear in his wide, dark brown eyes. He brushed the hair away from his face, his hand trembling. "What are you saying, Dean?"

"I'm asking you to leave, Seth." Dean averted his gaze down onto the bloody bedspread. "And shut the door behind you."

Seth's heart seemed to stop functioning in his chest. After he had told Dean that he had been raped and laid all his cards out on the table, Dean had _still_ rejected him. That hurt. It took a minute for him to be able to collect himself enough to rise to his feet, but once he did, he started to _run_. It was just like running from street lamp to street lamp, afraid that the creep would still be out there, waiting for him. Only, this time, he wasn't running because he was afraid. He was running because he wasn't wanted anymore.


	20. The Truth is Slowly Revealed

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Self-Harm, etc.

* * *

**Meanwhile**

Roman had bought himself some new clothes – nothing too fancy, just a pair of jeans and a fresh shirt – and had changed in the bathroom, after carefully bandaging his ribs. It had taken awhile for the pain medication to kick in, but now the pain had dulled and he felt better. Still, he wasn't willing to take any risks. Before leaving, he had eaten a small meal and made sure that he had gotten enough water in his system. It wouldn't do to have him pass out from lack of proper nutrition, after all.

By the time that he left, the sun was already rising in the sky. He didn't want to dwell on how long he had been inside, however. He didn't want to dwell on any of it. He was scared. No, scared wasn't the right word. Roman was mortified, disgusted with himself and with the bastard that had attacked him, but above all, angry that he couldn't remember the man's face. This man… what if he was hurting Seth? What if he was hurting Seth and Roman couldn't help him because he couldn't remember?

Seth. The very mention of his name made Roman's stomach turn. He felt absolutely responsible for all of this. Maybe, if he hadn't acted so rashly before, he would have stayed. They could have talked about this. It didn't have to go down like that. Gently, Roman raked a hand over his ribs. The burning sensation set his entire nervous system ablaze and his stomach rolled more violently this time. He cursed underneath his breath, feeling his consciousness threaten to slip.

Not knowing what else to do, but knowing that he couldn't just stand there in the middle of the street, he made his way over to one of the benches, which was bolted down to the sidewalk. It seemed so stupid, bolting the bench down to the sidewalk. What was he going to do, pick it up and walk off with it while he was surrounded by hundreds of other shoppers and there were security cameras everywhere? No. That wasn't exactly his idea of 'discreet'. That was more like 'blatant idiocy'.

He let himself fall onto the bench, not realizing just how much that short walk had exhausted him. Briefly, he wondered how he had even made it to the Wal-Mart at all. During the entire walk over there, he could feel his body beginning to shut down on him. He had wondered if he should have gone to the hospital, but frankly, Wal-Mart was closer. Just then, his phone went off, disrupting his train of thought. He answered it, not recognizing the Caller ID.

"Hello?" He grumbled, his eyes slipping closed as a wave of exhaustion washed over him.

_"Hello? Is this Mr. Roman Reigns?"_ An official-sounding voice questioned. Roman rumbled a brief 'yes'. _"My name is Dr. White. I've been attempting to contact you for a few hours now. You are listed as the emergency contact for Mr. Ambrose."_

Roman rolled his eyes. He was too tired for this age-old song and dance. "Yeah? What did he do this time? Fall asleep in the bathtub again? He's famous for that."

There was a pause. _"Well, you could say that. His body was found in the bathtub by two hotel workers."_ Roman sucked in a harsh breath, suddenly fully awake. _"He cut himself and was bleeding profusely. He also had water in his lungs."_

Roman felt a wave of emotion wash over him, but he blamed it on the overwhelming pain in his system. "Is he… Is he okay?"

_"Oh, he's fine. He'll make a full recovery. But… a man was in to see him earlier, and he seemed to have a negative impact on Mr. Ambrose's emotional welfare. He's been asking for you, and I feel that you coming would be beneficial."_

Roman swallowed hard. "When do visiting hours start?"

The doctor didn't even hesitate. _"You're family to him. You can come by whenever."_

"Okay. I should be there in…" Where the hell was he in relation to the hospital? "I'll try to be there in a half-hour."

_"Very good, Mr. Reigns. I look forward to seeing you then."_

Roman ended the call, attempting to comprehend what the doctor had just told him. Seth had been at the hospital. He had been at the hospital, so he knew that Dean had cut himself and almost drowned. Why wouldn't he stay with him? Roman had to wonder what their fight had been about. If Dean was in such a delicate situation, why would Seth push him like that – if Seth was even the one to induce the argument. As much as he lov – liked – Dean, he knew he could be rather… difficult to deal with.

He rose off of the bench and stretched, stuffing his phone into his pocket. Stepping down off the curb, he tucked his hands into his pockets and started to walk in the direction he thought that he had come. It was a little unnerving, not knowing where he was. However, he knew one of two things would happen. Either he would become hopelessly lost and some poor soul would take pity on him, or he would make it to the hospital and crash in Dean's room for a while. Thankfully, it was the latter.

* * *

"So, you sound like an absolute bottle of sunshine, Dean." Roman muttered, taking a seat at Dean's bedside. "Why would you hurt yourself, Dean? It's not like you." Roman continued.

Dean shot him a look, looking a little surprised to see him there. "I've already told about a hundred and one people why I did it. I'm not really in the mood to tell the story again."

"Fine." Roman shrugged. "You don't have to tell me. You don't even have to talk, if you don't want to. I've never been big on listening to your odd-ball speeches anyway." Roman said.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Huh. You certainly sound like a bottle of sunshine yourself, there."

An uncomfortable silence fell over them. Roman leaned back, carefully crossing his arms over his chest. Dean could see the swell of his chest underneath his shirt, which was just a bit on the small side. His ginger movements made it clear that he was still in obvious pain. Briefly, his mind flashed back to the letter that Seth had found where he assumed Roman's body would be. It was splattered with blood. Maybe it was Roman's blood.

Dean turned and stared at the bigger man, uncertain about what to believe anymore. Roman didn't _look_ like he had been hurt. Certainly, Roman was strong enough to handle himself. But, once again, his eyes were drawn down to the swell of his chest. Roman moved around so carefully, it was obvious that some of them were broken. He reached into his pocket and took out some pills, swallowing them down without any water. Yes, he was quite obviously in pain.

He was intelligent enough to know that if Roman was taken without his consent, Roman would never come clean about it. Roman would let it fester inside of him until it destroyed him. Just as that thought crossed his mind, the muscle of the group shifted uncomfortably in the chair. So, he was having trouble sitting still for extended periods of time as well. Something about this was incredibly unsettling, and Seth's argument was rapidly gaining more credibility.

"Roman…" Dean didn't know how to ask this, didn't even know if he could. "I…"

Roman turned to him, locking his cold brown eyes on Dean's face. "Yes?"

"I know that… I know that this is an uncomfortable question, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but if someone hurt you… you would tell me… us... wouldn't you? We're a team. It's the three of us against the world."

"That's in the ring. We're invincible in the ring, untouchable. Not in real life. In real life… we're breakable."

Dean cocked his head to the side. "Has someone tried to break you, Roman?"

Roman stared into Dean's eyes, and answered in a cold monotone, "No."

That was where the conversation ended again. The uncomfortable tension hung heavily in the air, so thick that it could be cut with a knife. Dean stared down at the white wrapping around his arm, holding it steady as he started to pick at it. Dr. White had warned him against picking at his stitches, because it could cause infection or he could bleed out. But he was done worrying about that. Whatever would happen would happen.

Roman bit on his bottom lip, tasting the blood as it washed over his tongue. Like Dean, a thousand thoughts were racing through his head. He didn't want to be chased out of his 'boyfriend's' room because he upset him, but he felt like Dean needed to tell him something and he knew that he couldn't leave until Dean got it out. So he leaned back, watching as Dean picked at his stitches (despite the doctor's advice). Finally, Dean turned to him.

"I have something that I want to tell you, but I don't know how you'll deal with it. If I tell you, you have to promise not to freak out. I don't think I can handle another person freaking out on me today."

Roman shrugged. "Hit me with your best shot."

Dean swallowed hard. "It doesn't leave this room?"

Roman shook his head. "Nope." He grumbled.

"Seth was raped." Dean said, before holding up the letters. "And I know who did it."


	21. Update on Phil's Condition

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Self-Harm, etc.

* * *

Phil blinked slowly, blearily taking in his surroundings. He was in an unfamiliar room, in a bed that was much more uncomfortable than any hotel room bed he had ever slept on, with monitors and gadgets and all other such nonsense beeping madly all around. Where the hell was he? Carefully, he turned his head to the side, peering through the glass window and noticing a mob of men and women in scrubs frantically running back and forth.

The hospital. He was in the hospital. But why was he in the hospital? Slowly, he rolled his head in the other direction, taking in the slumbering form of his lover nearby. Chris leaned back in his chair, his fingers neatly looped together over his chest. His breathing was deep and even, and occasionally, his head would loll to the side and golden locks would fall down in front of his handsome face. He looked peaceful, the worry lines aside.

He turned back so that he was staring at the ceiling. Even that small movement served to churn up his insides and make him dizzy. He sucked in a harsh breath and forced his eyes closed, the pure oxygen burning his nostrils. Why did he feel so absolutely terrible? The last thing he remembered was a violent, burning pain tearing through his abdomen and causing him to lose consciousness. But what had happened?

Chris blinked, slowly coming around. It didn't take him long to realize that Phil was awake for the first time in several days. "You're… awake." It was all he could come up with.

Slowly, Phil craned his head to look at his boyfriend. "Yeah… I'm awake." He rasped. He swallowed hard, wondering why it was suddenly so difficult to speak.

Chris was instantly at his side. "Don't force yourself, baby. Do you want some ice chips?" Phil nodded hesitantly. Chris started to scoop them into his mouth. "You've been through a lot. Don't force it."

Phil swallowed down the ice chips with some difficulty. "A lot? I've been through… a lot?" Chris nodded. "I don't understand what… what… happened to me?" He forced out.

Tears crystalized on Chris' eyelashes, but he refused to let them fall. "You don't remember?"

Phil looked at him, obviously confused. "I don't. Should I?"

"Oh, God, _Philly_." Now, there was a real threat to the tears falling. "Some much happened, I'm amazed that you don't remember. And I wasn't… I wasn't there to protect you, and I am _so_ sorry for that."

Phil took some more ice chips, before saying, "But you've never actually told me what happened."

That was all it took for him to break down. "You were _shot_, Philly. Some bastard tried to kill you!"

Realization dawned on Phil's face as all of the memories came crashing back like a tidal wave. He was sick to his stomach and all at once, he started to make frantic motions for the trashcan. Chris handed it to him and turned away as he violently emptied the contents of his stomach, knowing that Phil wouldn't want him to see him at a moment when he was so vulnerable. When he finished, he weakly handed the bucket back to Chris.

Phil could remember, quite vividly, the feeling of the bullet as it pierced his skin. The blinding, burning sensation increased tenfold as he remembered all of the blood, the feeling of his skin as it tore, and it was all so _real_. It was like it was happening right at that moment. Frantically, he clutched at his middle, terrified to find the bandages that lay there, soaked with fresh blood from his over-zealousness. Chris stared at him, concern evident in his eyes.

Phil fought to calm himself, and when he felt he had full control of his emotions, he turned to Chris. "I don't… I don't remember any of it." He lied. It was an unconvincing lie, but it was a lie all the same.

Chris stared at him for a few minutes, before responding, "Then what was…"

"Nothing. I was just… surprised, I guess. You don't exactly get shot every day, now do you?"

Chris had no choice but to accept this as the truth. "Of course. Yeah, I guess you're right about that."

Phil stared at him uncertainly, before he asked. "How long have you been here? The whole time, or…" he trailed off. He assumed that he had been in the hospital for a while, considering he had been shot and all.

Chris nodded, sucking in a harsh breath. "Yeah, I've been here the whole time. There's nowhere else I'd rather be." Chris said, before adding, "I have to get the doctor and let him know you're awake, but I'll be right back. Okay?"

Phil nodded, already feeling a little sleepy. "Okay."

He managed to stay awake through the doctor's examination and was even able to answer a few questions, but he had to remind himself to not focus in on those surrounding the attack. He didn't want to think about it. He was sure that, if he did, it would slowly eat away at him. Chris hadn't been there and he hadn't seen who had shot him. It had been so dark and… maybe they would never know. And Phil didn't know if he could live with that.

* * *

"What do you mean by you know who did it?" Roman asked, his voice little more than a low grumble. He took on a more offensive position, but his arms were still crossed neatly over his chest.

"Take a look at these letters." Dean said. When Roman didn't look like he was about to move, Dean shoved them in his direction. "Look at them, Roman. There's an underlying theme in all of them. See if you can pick it up."

Slowly, Roman leaned forward. His dark eyes scanned over the wrinkled sheets of paper, trying to see if this was some sort of trick that Dean had concocted to hurt him. It was awful that these letters had managed to make everyone so distrustful of one another. Roman couldn't say that he ever _trusted_ anyone, exactly, but what he felt for the other members of The Shield – his _lovers_ – was as close as he had ever come.

Finally, after several minutes of debating the pros and cons of actually taking the papers, he snatched them from the smaller man's hand and started to read over them. Just as Dean had said, there was an underlying, threatening tone about each one of them. The letters were never addressed to anyone, and they were never signed either, but it was overwhelmingly clear that they were addressed to Seth. After all, his name was rarely, if ever, used…

He looked them over, feeling the knot of disgust in his stomach grow tighter and tighter. And, with it, came a new sense of infuriation. Roman remembered being shoved around by this creep, being forced down onto the pavement and… and then his mind went blank. Maybe it was because he couldn't remember. Maybe it was because he didn't _want_ to remember. Carefully, he folded the papers back into their original state.

"Okay, so you have these letters. What exactly do you expect to prove with them?" Roman asked.

Dean blinked slowly, amazed that Roman couldn't see it. "Read between the lines, Roman. Look at the way the letter is written. The author is employing our own method of attack against us. Single out and attack."

Roman nodded. "Yeah, I can see that. Whoever wrote these letters singles out Seth, constantly referring to him as 'You' and only referring to him by name once or twice. But our names are all over the place."

"That narrows it down significantly. It is someone we've attacked before, someone we've singled out." Dean said.

"That doesn't really narrow it down at all…" Roman trailed off.

Dean ignored his little side comment. "Now, look at these letters." Dean picked out two of them. "All of the letters refer to Seth as a submissive in some way, but these two? They clearly state _you_ will submit to _me_."

Roman still wasn't catching on. "And?"

Dean pulled out the last letter. It was Roman's supposed suicide note. "Read this one." Roman did. "Does it sound familiar?" He shook his head. Dean sighed. "The rapist just lost someone close to them, and not for the first time."

Suddenly, an image started to manifest in Roman's head. He had heard a rumor around the locker room – not that The Shield was a 'welcome' presence in the locker room – that Justin Gabriel had just experienced a horrific break-up with his boyfriend of seven months, but he couldn't remember the boyfriend's name. All he remembered was that Justin had to file a police report because his ex had decided to whip his feet with a leather whip…

_"I just want to sleep… my feet hurt so fucking bad, I don't even want to look at them."_

Dean stared at him, a far-off look on his face. "The man that raped Seth… is Ryback."


	22. WrestleMania (A)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Self-Harm, Attempted Suicide, etc.

* * *

"Okay. So Ryback is the man that attacked Seth." Roman nodded, understanding clear in his eyes. "What exactly do you suppose we do about it? We're not in the best of shape, in case you haven't noticed."

Dean nodded solemnly. "Oh, trust me, I've noticed. It would take a blind man not to notice. But I do have a plan. A plan that involves the grandest stage of them all… WrestleMania."

* * *

WrestleMania 29

The Shield had pulled off the unthinkable, defeating the three man team of Sheamus, Randy Orton, and the Big Show on the grandest stage of them all. In doing so, they entered into an elite rank of stars that have won their WrestleMania debut. But that wasn't their focus that night. While there had been little communication with Seth, Dean and Roman had been plotting their revenge on the so-called 'monster', Ryback.

His match with Mark Henry was swift and painful. Neither man was truly built for endurance, so it was interesting to watch them contest a decent-length match. Dean and Roman were especially interested in the outcome of the match. Standing backstage, they watched the duration of it on television, marveling at the swift punishment that Mark Henry enacted on their soon-to-be victim. He was, in effect, doing all the hard work for them.

Soon enough, the match was over. Mark Henry was declared the victor, and after several painful minutes, Ryback clawed his way backstage. Though he was severely weakened from the match, he still looked angered and hostile. Dean smirked. He turned to Roman, who was already thinking one step ahead of him. The muscle of the group charged the monster when his back was turned, sending him crashing to the floor face-first. It broke his nose.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ryback groaned, trying to hold his throbbing nose. However, Roman wouldn't loosen the knee cutting into his lower back, effectively paralyzing him.

"Oh? What is this, now? You can't take a little bit of your own medicine?" Roman taunted, taking his head and grinding it into the stone. He pulled back after a few minutes, satisfied. "Want to know how that feels on concrete?"

"I don't know what the hell the two of you are talking about, but I swear, if you don't get off my back right now…"

Dean came around front, staring down at the 'monster' disdainfully. "I'll start with the basics. Try to catch up."

Ryback growled. Roman growled back, and he fell silent.

"We had a little talk with Justin Gabriel, your former boy-toy, and showed him some… personal letters that you sent to our submissive. We know how _well_ acquainted you are with him, Ryback. We know what you did."

Roman leaned down, growling into Ryback's ear, "We know that you put your dirty, filthy hands all over him. We know how scared he was, and is, of you. And we know that you turned him against us."

Ryback grinned menacingly. "What the hell would I want with trash like Seth Rollins?"

Roman was ready to kill the bastard now, but Dean shook his head. "Don't you _ever_ talk about him like that!"

Roman flipped him around so that his bloody face was toward the ceiling, if only he could stare into the bastard's eyes. Without even questioning him, he knew that Ryback had been the one who had assaulted him. He knew it, and it disgusted him. Ryback saw that in his eyes and started to laugh, his voice detached and far off. Roman, in return, took hold of his broken nose and twisted. The laugh turned into a whining howl of pain.

Roman could remember laying there in his own blood, feeling torn, battered, bruised. He had never felt dirtier, more corrupted, in his life. And this man – he had the nerve to laugh at that! Slowly, he released Ryback's nose and let the man's hands come up to cup his face. He was keening with pain, which was exactly where Roman wanted him to be. He wanted the monster to feel like he had felt. He wanted him to be absolutely miserable.

"Tell us, Ryback. Is it not true that you did entertain a relationship with Justin Gabriel for several months?"

Ryback's lips were dotted with blood. "No, it's not true."

Dean made a small 'tsk' with his tongue. "I don't think you understand the severity of your situation, Ryback. You see, Roman already wants to hurt you _much_ more than I do. If you continue to lie, I just might let him do it…"

Ryback stared at the two of them defiantly, before he spit in Roman's face. "I didn't."

Dean looked to Roman, who slowly climbed to his feet. The Samoan met his gaze with a steady glare, before he let out a low war-cry that sounded akin to a grunt. Dean took hold of Ryback's shoulders, while Roman took hold of his ankles. They swung him into position for the power bomb… but then Roman hesitated. Turning around, he walked over to where the cars were located, and picked out a dark red car with a _very_ breakable windshield.

"This is your last chance, Ryback. Tell us the truth and I'll tell Roman here to back off." Dean said.

Ryback snarled, before he looked away. "Do what you want. I'll sue you both for assault."

Dean shrugged, before he waved Roman on to continue. "Don't say I didn't try to warn you."

Seconds later, the sound of breaking glass resounded throughout the deserted parking lot as Ryback was forced through the windshield of a very expensive foreign car. Not ten seconds later, he was back in Roman's arms, and Roman took off, thrusting Ryback's vulnerable spine into the side of the forklift. That was the monster's undoing. He fell down, Roman's body no longer there to support him, and flinched violently as his body contorted.

"Fine! You want to know the truth? I did go out with him, I did! Just… don't… touch… me."

**Earlier That Week**

"Justin?" The South African turned around at the sound of his name, flinching when he saw that it was Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns of The Shield.

"What is it? I haven't interrupted any of your plans for justice, at least, I don't think I have. What do you want with me?" Justin asked, wary of the two bigger stars.

"We don't want to bother you. We only have one question." Dean said, before motioning to Roman's offensive stance. "Don't worry about him. He's just a little stressed."

"Stressed. Right." Justin didn't look convinced. "What do you need?"

"You were in a relationship with Ryback for several months." It wasn't a question. It was a fact.

Justin nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. And?"

"Did he ever send you letters like this?" Dean held out the stack of letters that Seth had given him. It only took Justin a few seconds of staring at the first letter to nod.

"Yeah. All the time."

Dean smirked. "That's all we needed to know."

**Present Time**

"Now, we have a very simple, yes or no question for you. Do you think that you can handle that?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowed on their victim.

Ryback glowered at them.

"Did you rape Seth?" Dean asked.

"No!" Ryback declared fervently. For his efforts, Roman kneeled on his stomach. Black dots danced before Ryback's eyes and for a second, he was certain that he blacked out.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you?" Dean asked, smirking as he watched Roman work every part of Ryback's body until it cried uncle. It always got him hot and bothered.

"I said I _didn't rape him_!" Ryback continued.

Roman was furious. The blood was practically boiling in his veins. With the greatest of ease, he picked up the monster, spun him around and slammed his spine onto the floor with as much force as he could muster. Ryback screamed in absolute misery, trying to force Roman off. His antics, however, only caused Roman to do it a second, and even a third, time. Ryback was practically unconscious when Dean finally pulled Roman off.

Ryback chuckled, blood on his teeth. "Fine? You want to know the truth? I did_ make love_ to him. Over and over and over again." And then, "But don't even waste your time trying to find him. By the time you do, it'll be too late."

Dean growled. "Why? Why will it be too late?"

"Because Seth wants to kill himself." And with that, Ryback lost consciousness.


	23. WrestleMania (B)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Self-Harm, Attempted Suicide, etc.

* * *

Roman and Dean shared a look, a silent conversation transpiring between them. Dean sucked in a harsh breath, Ryback's last words resounding loud and clear within his head, before he motioned for Roman to dispose of the body. Roman dropped Ryback on the ground, watching him roll onto his side and finally land on his stomach. After that, he was absolutely motionless. Normally, Dean would have worried about lasting damage to Ryback's body, but there was no time for that. Right now, Seth was first and foremost.

Roman stared down at Ryback's unconscious body, a haunted look in his eyes. Even without touching him, he could read the tension radiating off of him in waves. Also, there was sick look in his eyes. He could tell that Roman was stressed, confused… he didn't really know the right word for it. All he knew was that Roman was hurt and, most likely, Ryback had something to do with it. That thought alone made him want to tear into Ryback again, but that would have to wait. Seth first, and then, if Ryback was still around… well, Dean sincerely hoped he wasn't.

Roman tore his gaze away with as much force as he could muster, attempting to dampen the haunted look in his eyes with a look of frustration and anger instead. He stormed off down the hallway, throwing doors open left and right, attempting to locate their two-toned counterpart. He couldn't kill himself. He just _couldn't_. The Shield was a three-man group. They played off each other perfectly. Never before had the WWE Universe seen a threesome that could work so well together and blend their personalities so flawlessly. It wouldn't work with just two of them.

Before he even knew what was happening, he found Seth's name tumbling from his mouth. Over and over again, the haunting mantra filled the abandoned hallways behind the arena. It didn't surprise either of them that they never received a response. If Seth was in such terrible condition that he was contemplating suicide, he wouldn't exactly be jumping at the chance for his two lovers, who had turned their backs on him, to track him down. No, that would be foolish. He would want it over as soon as possible, which was why they had to hurry.

"Where the hell could he be?" Dean fumed, attempting to clean up the messy trail that Roman was leaving behind. While he doubted that Ryback would press charges (he had a _tiny_ ounce of brain power, at the least), he didn't want to deal with a harassment suit.

"If I knew, do you think that I would be wasting my time searching through every fucking locker room that we come across?" Roman shot back at him. That tension was back, even though the Samoan did his best to hide it. Dean could read him like a book.

"Is there something that you wanna talk to me about, Roman?" He asked softly, tentatively broaching the subject.

Roman turned and looked at him only once, the answer clearly written in his chocolate eyes. "Haven't we been over this? That would be _no_."

But Dean wouldn't let the conversation drop so easily. "Roman, don't lie to me." Dean said. "We need to be unified, now more than ever."

Roman clenched his hands into fists at his sides, his eyes narrowed into slits. "Even if something _did_ happen, I'm not even sure that… sure that I could tell you about it." Roman shrugged. "It doesn't matter, anyhow. _Seth_ is what matters."

Dean still wasn't convinced. He could see it in Roman's eyes. There was more to this story. "Just answer this – yes or no?"

Roman swallowed hard, allowing a beat to pass before finally answering, "Yes."

Dean felt the blood boil like molten lava in his veins. He couldn't believe that that bastard had put his hands on Roman – and an _injured_ Roman, no less. He was absolutely disgusted. It wasn't only that Roman had been abused, but that was a great deal of it, but also that Ryback had injured two of his lovers and Dean couldn't do anything to change that. Dean wanted to go back there and personally tear Ryback a new one, but he refrained – if only just barely. But as he watched Roman slowly crumble, the need became that much stronger.

Roman started to storm down the hallway again, his efforts renewed. He stared into the barren rooms, their chances of finding Seth alive decreasing steadily with every room that they stumbled upon that was deserted. Suddenly, an idea came to him. It was a horrible, grisly idea… and yet, Seth was unpredictable in a sort of grisly way. It was so like him, it was a wonder how they hadn't thought of it sooner. Roman turned on his heel, breaking into a jog. Dean followed close behind, retracing their steps all the way to the beginning.

"It's so stupid! Why didn't I think of it sooner?" Dean mumbled to himself. "The bathroom, Roman. The _bathroom_!"

"If he does what I think he plans too, then the shower would be a perfect cover. Nobody would find the mess. He wouldn't cause anyone anymore trouble…" Roman trailed off sullenly.

Dean finally caught up to Roman, before he shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. "You don't think that he's already…"

"No." Roman said firmly. "I don't. I refuse to think that. He's fine. He's gonna be fine. And if he's not…"

Dean shot a look down the abandoned hallway where Ryback's body had once lain, knowing exactly what Roman meant without the bigger man having to voice it. "We know who to hurt."

* * *

"How do you feel, baby?" Chris asked, watching as Phil stumbled into their locker room. He was holding onto his stomach tightly, crimson red blood dotting the bandages that wrapped around his stomach.

"I feel like shit. I think… I think that I need to sit down." Chris was at his side in an instant, taking hold of his arm and leading him over to the couch. He wrapped his torso in a towel so he wouldn't bleed onto the fabric. "I think I tore my stitches."

"Think? Baby, I _know_ that you tore your stitches. Look at you! You look like you just came back from a war zone." Chris fussed over him. "Let me go get a washcloth and I'll clean you up, then I'll take you to the trainer so that he can look you over."

Phil allowed his eyes to flutter closed, a ghost of a smile dancing across his face when Chris kissed his forehead. "Okay."

Chris walked into the adjoining bathroom and wet a washcloth, before he returned, kneeling down at his lover's side and dabbing at the bloody wound with the cool cloth. Gently, with his other hand, he peeled the bandages away from Phil's wound and cleaned it up as best he could. Phil was severely wounded – he had been shot, after all. But the trainer had cleared him to wrestle (the stitches were almost healed and all that), so he had gone out there and contested a hard match with the Undertaker. For a while, Chris agreed he was absolutely fine.

But then, he had seen Phil make a foolish move that had most likely cost him the match, and his stitches. He had jumped off of the top rope and onto the announce table, meaning to put an elbow through the heart of the Undertaker. Instead, the Undertaker moved just enough to the side to have Phil catch his ribs on the hard side of the table. It collapsed under both of their weight and Phil's stitches had burst, blood flowing freely over his pale, tattooed skin. It had been awful. Mark had ended the match quickly after that.

"Do you think that you can even walk back to the trainer's room?" Chris asked, watching as Phil flinched as he caught the edge of a bloody, ragged wound. Phil was just a mess.

"I'm not sure." Phil slurred. He allowed his eyes to fall closed and his head to loll to the side. Chris smacked his face with the clean part of the washcloth. "I'm awake. I'm awake."

Chris sighed. "Baby, if you can't make it to the trainer's room, then you'll need to be taken to the hospital in an ambulance. I can't… I can't risk losing you a second time. I wasn't there for you the first time, but I can be there for you now."

Phil swallowed hard, his throat raw and dry. "That wasn't your fault, Chrissy."

"You can say that all you want." Chris said. "I'll tell you when I start to believe you."

Phil couldn't answer. Chris wasn't sure if it was because of the fact that he had passed out, or he just didn't have anything to say. Quickly, he finished cleaning up the wound, wanting to make sure that there wouldn't be any blood stains left behind. It wouldn't do to make it seem as if a murder had transpired in their locker room, after all. Then, he stretched his arms out and carefully shifted Phil into his embrace. He would take Phil there in his arms, and make sure that he was taken care of. He wouldn't let him down a second time.

"You're gonna be okay, baby. You're gonna be just fine…" Chris trailed sweetly, before starting toward the trainer's room.

* * *

Seth's eyes were glazed over as he stared into nothingness, the shower stall glazed over in crystalline colors. He sat in his full wrestling attire, the ice-cold water splashing over his body and soaking his clothes straight through. He didn't care. He couldn't feel it anymore. His injured arm lay on the shower floor, blood spilling from the wound at an alarming rate. It flowed down the drain, carried by the water, with startling ease. It would only be a matter of time now, and then, it would all be over.

The door burst open and Dean and Roman stormed through. Within seconds of their arrival, Seth's broken body became visible to them. "Seth!" And then it all went black.


	24. WrestleMania (C)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, BDSM Punishment, etc.

* * *

Roman was the first to make it to Seth's fallen frame. Seth was unconscious by the time that he arrived, but the flow of blood was still worrisome. His thick, two-toned hair was matted down to his face, concealing the dried tear tracts that he had tried so very hard to hide. Seth wasn't perfect. None of them were. And he had thought, for a while, that Dean and Roman had understood and accepted his imperfections. But when they had so callously turned him away when he needed their help the most… he just didn't know what to do anymore.

Dean handed Roman a clean, stray shirt out of someone's gym bag. He watched as Roman tore the fabric easily, desperation seemingly amplifying his strength tenfold. He wrapped the thin strip of fabric that he had torn off around Seth's elbow, tying it as securely as he possibly could, in order to form a sort of tourniquet. Feeling the sudden pinch of his skin, Seth started to come around. Blearily, his eyes fluttered open, flitting around and finally coming to settle upon multiple Roman's and a form that somewhat resembled Dean.

"You're awake!" That was Dean, he would be able to recognize that voice anywhere. "Oh, thank God you're awake!"

Seth's breathing was weak and his entire body utterly frail. He seemed as if he would break at any moment. "Are there any other injuries I need to know about, Seth? Or is this the only one?" It disturbed Roman to even have to ask that question.

Slowly, Seth turned his head away, silently asking '_isn't that one enough?'_

And suddenly, Dean was squeezing into the small cavern beside Roman, fussing over their wounded mate. "God, Sethie, why would you do this to yourself? Why would you try to take your own life like this?"

"Don't pretend like you care." Seth spat out. His voice crackled and his throat was hoarse. He sounded like a wounded animal. "I tried to tell you what that freak did to me and you wouldn't listen! Don't come and pretend like you care what happens now!"

"I know. I'm sorry. I should have -," but Dean was cut off.

"I don't want you here. Go die in a ditch somewhere for all I care! Get out, and don't come back!" Seth screamed.

Dean recoiled as if he had been burned with hot coals. The looked of pained disbelief on his face was made all the more effective by the momentary flicker of shock on Roman's. Finally, trying to sound as if he could just 'brush it off', he said, "I'll go find that ditch…"

An awkward silence fell over the otherwise abandoned shower stalls as Dean rose to his feet and made his way toward the adjoined locker room, boots squelching with the water the tracks had absorbed. When the door to the locker room finally slid closed with a satisfying _clack_, Seth finally allowed fresh tears to fall. Roman was at a loss for what to do, as he had never needed to be the 'comforter' before. That was Dean's role. He liked to take care of Seth, to fuss over him and nurture him… and Roman blackened men's eyes for looking at him twice.

But now, Seth had just attempted suicide because he felt that his two lover's would be better off without him, and when one of those lovers tried to comfort him, he had, in no uncertain terms, told them to go 'die in a ditch'. Roman had never seen Seth be so cruel before. It was a true measure of how all of this must've affected him. And now, Roman didn't know what to do. He could either check on Dean and make sure he was okay, or he could stay and tackle one problem at a time. In the end, he chose the latter.

It was a new and uncomfortable idea for him, what he was about to do. However, he could sense that Seth needed it, and he had the strangest inkling that he needed it as well. Reaching forward, he pulled the still-bleeding man into a hug. At first, Seth tensed. He wasn't used to such a blatant show of affection from the Samoan warrior. But after a moment, he relaxed and started to sob into the crook of Roman's neck. His body folded against the wall of muscle like a wilting flower, and Roman could feel the blood mix with water and trail down his arm.

"I'm sorry that we weren't there for you, Seth." Roman grumbled. He tried to sound indifferent, but the damn sap had him on the verge of tears as well. "I'm sorry, Seth. It never would have gotten this bad if we only would have known."

Seth was sobbing so hard, it was incredibly difficult to make out what he was saying. Finally, he sucked in a harsh breath and forced out, "Why should I have to tell you what you already know?"

Roman forced Seth off of him and stared into the watery, chocolate-brown eyes. "What do we already know, Seth?"

"That I'm a useless, worthless, pathetic, filthy _slut_." Seth choked. He threw his arms around Roman's neck once more and just clung to him.

Roman honestly did not know what to say to that. Never before had either of them ever considered Seth a slut, nor had they called him one – even as a semi-sexy name in bed. Did Ryback make him think that? "You're not a slut, Seth."

"Yes I am! You just don't know!" Seth was starting to hyperventilate, and that was the last thing that they needed.

"Calm down, kid, okay? Just calm down. We can talk about this, but I'm gonna need you to relax. If you can't do that, I'll have to get the paramedics in here and then you'll be taken to the hospital." He neglected to mention that that would need to happen anyhow.

"I'm a whore… I'm a whore… A useless slut… I've been used and destroyed… Why am I still here, Roman?"

Roman smoothed Seth's sopping wet hair soothingly. "Why are you talking like that, Seth? You're not a slut, or a whore. You're just _Seth_."

"I look into the mirror… And all I can see… Is a reflection of _him_…" Seth was rocking himself in Roman's arms.

Roman rubbed soothing circles onto Seth's back, desperately attempting to comfort him, to calm him down. The last thing he needed to do was have a panic attack and cause even more damage to his body. "Who, Seth?"

Finally, Seth tilted his head back, staring up at Roman with half-wild chocolate-brown eyes. "It's not the first time he's raped me."

With that, all streams of consciousness rapidly flowed out of Seth's body. It was like watching a wind-up doll slowly start to lose power. Within seconds of saying those crucial words, Seth's body was totally limp in Roman's arms. Not wanting to waste any more time, Roman lifted him up off of the floor and carefully made his way out of the showers, out of the locker room, and toward the trainer's room. Nearby, there was always an ambulance – especially during a PPV event. Medical staff still hovered around it like hawks.

When they saw Roman start to approach with the body, they moved into high alert. It took two men to lift Seth's limp body, while Roman had been able to lift it with ease. Quickly, the two men that had lifted him started to work on bandaging his wounded arm. Another lady started to take his vitals, and Roman soon realized that they were dangerously low. Seth could be minutes, even seconds away from death. And yet, all he could do was stand there and wait until he was issued a command by one of the medical professionals.

"What can you tell me about his condition, sir?" Another lady, this one with a notepad, asked.

Roman continued to stare at the gurney, answering detachedly, "I found him like that. It appeared that he had self-harmed, and had made it into the shower stall before he collapsed."

"Do you have any idea why he would self-harm?" She asked.

Roman looked at her, his eyes locked with hers, and answered steadily, "Not the slightest."

* * *

There would be no use in going to the hospital that night. Seth was in no condition to give any further details about Ryback, let alone expand on what exactly he meant when he said 'it wasn't the first time he raped me'. It seemed like such a straight-forward statement, but it really wasn't. Why had he never told either Roman or Dean about this before? They were a team, a cohesive unit. And, above that, they were lovers. There were no secrets between them. Secrets were what caused painful rifts in relationships.

Roman returned to find Dean sitting on the bed in their hotel room, legs crossed under his body Indian-style. He lifted his head when he heard the door close behind Roman. "How is he?" Dean asked.

"Well, if you want the truth, not all that great. I was able to get a little conversation out of him. I tried to calm him down, but he just wouldn't stop exciting himself. He ended up passing out and was taken to the hospital about an hour ago."

Dean nodded in understanding. "You go? To visit him, I mean."

"Me? Nah." Roman shook his head. "The whole 'lying in wait at thy love's bedside is your sort of thing."

Dean smirked, but the mirth didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't think that he'll want me at his bedside any time soon."

Roman sighed. Once again, he had been thrust into the role of comforter. Needless to say, after this whole mess was over, he _never_ wanted to be comforter again. "Look, once he's back to one-hundred percent, he'll be so sorry he ever said something like that…"

"No he won't." Dean's smile was sad. "Once he's back to one-hundred percent, he won't have the time of day for me anymore. I'll have to cherish all the times I made an asshole out of myself just to remember what his voice sounded like."

"Don't be like -,"

"Roman?"

"What?"

Dean started to shimmy out of his coat, his shirt following suit. "You remember that time in the locker room, when it was just the two of us? When you were blaming yourself for hurting Seth and all you wanted to do was hurt?"

"Dean, no…" but Roman's voice was weak, crumbling at the sight of more pale skin as it was slowly exposed.

Dean's rosy lips parted, forming the two words that would be Roman's undoing. "Hurt me."

Dean was desperate. All he wanted was to feel like Seth and Roman did… to feel utterly broken, abused, _destroyed_. It wasn't the same, he knew, because Roman was in control and he knew that Roman would never do any serious, long term damage to his body or his mind… but it was as close as he could get right at that moment and that was what he needed. He needed to feel something other than the cold, empty bitterness that was wallowing within his belly. And he knew that Roman would help all of that go away…

Roman fell down on his knees, allowing one hand to slide under the bed and remove a box that they had hidden there. Using the key that he had taken off of Seth before this whole ordeal had begun, he unlocked it and revealed an entire chest of toys. He fumbled around with them for a few minutes, trying to decide what he wanted to use. Finally, he settled on a long, thick, solid metal rod with segments of various sizes and weights all along it. Dean eyed it thankfully, knowing what it meant. After all this would come blissful unconsciousness.

Roman's eyes flickered up to him, ghosted with sadness. "Remember. You asked for this."

Dean didn't so much as flinch. "I know."

Soon enough, metal handcuffs braced him to the four bedposts and the first blow was delivered to his midsection. It was unbearably destructive, causing his body to attempt to double in upon itself, but quickly finding that it was unable to do so. Fifteen more of such blows followed, leaving ghastly purple stripes – the width of a human wrist – across Dean's chest, stomach, and thighs. Dean was practically sobbing, holding back his tears with only the knowledge that Roman was holding back on him, that 'this' was _nothing_.

Roman pulled the restrains just a little bit tighter, but not tight enough to truly cause Dean any chance of actual injury. Roman started to move the stick once more. Now that Dean had a little bit of a tighter hold on his emotions, he was calling out orders, instructing Roman to hit him 'harder' or to bring down the blows 'faster'. The Samoan always complied. It wasn't exactly pleasurable for him to do so, but this was Dean's own version of comfort. It was the way that he washed his mind clean of the own mucky filth that seemed to follow him about.

"Stop!" Dean called out suddenly, causing Roman to halt mid-blow.

Both were utterly silent for a moment, before Roman picked out the sound of Dean's phone ringing in the distance. "You want me to answer that?" He asked.

Dean nodded. "Would you?"

Roman walked out into the other room, fishing out Dean's phone from his gym bag. Immediately able to recognize the number, he selected 'ignore call' and discreetly slipped the phone into his back pocket. "Who was calling, Roman?" Dean asked weakly, sounding half asleep.

Roman's only answer was, "Wrong number."


	25. You Should Have Locked the Door

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, BDSM Punishment, etc.

* * *

Roman walked back into the other room, looking down at Dean's battered body with a poorly hidden self-loathing. "You're a bloody fucking mess, Dean."

"Thank you." The blond offered a cocky smile. His lips were badly cracked and he licked them uselessly. "You mind unlocking these things?" He shook his wrists and listened to the resulting clangor of the handcuffs hitting the bed posts. "I'm getting a little sore."

Roman chuckled blandly. It was an unfamiliar, throaty sound. "You're getting a little sore, huh? I can personally guarantee that you'll be more than 'a little sore' come morning." Still, he unlocked the handcuffs and let Dean's limbs fall to the bed. "You want some Tylenol?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Are you shitting me? Tylenol won't touch this. I'll just sleep it off. I'll be back to one-hundred percent before you know it."

"And what about Seth?" Roman thought to ask.

Dean shrugged. "What about him?"

"Don't play dumb, Dean." Dean's cocky smile melted down into something akin to a grimace. "I know full-well that you know what I'm talking about. What he said to you back in the shower stall was no joke. He hates your guts."

"Thanks for putting it so 'kindly'." Dean feigned a smile.

"Well, what do you want me to do? Butter it up for you and then lace it up with a pretty little bow? I'm not gonna do that, Dean. I'm gonna tell it to you like it is." Roman said frankly.

"You think that I don't know how it is? Is that what you think?" Dean shook his head, his eyes narrow in disbelief. "I know _exactly_ how it is. He wants me to die, and I've never been one to deny him anything."

"He doesn't really want this." Roman attempted to console him.

"How can you be so sure?" Dean asked. "Are you inside of his head? Do you know what he's thinking?"

Roman shook his head. "No, I'm not. But I _do_ know that he's not it in his right mind and he's _not_ thinking clearly. He doesn't know what he said."

"I'm not so sure you heard the same conversation that I did. He was _sure_, Roman. He was damned sure."

Roman looked at the clock. He really didn't want to be having this conversation right now. Comforting people just wasn't his forte. "I should really go visit him. The doctor said that they might need some of his medical information and..."

"You wouldn't want him to wake up and see me there." Dean finished meekly.

"That's not what I meant at all."

"You didn't have to say it." Dean shrugged. "It was all in the _way_ that you said it. Don't worry. I'm not upset."

But Roman wasn't convinced. "And even if I _did_ decide to leave, how can I be certain that you won't..." he didn't want to actually say the words, or plant any ideas into Dean's head. The blond was already short-circuiting, after all.

"You can't be." Dean shrugged again. "I guess you just have to take a leap of faith." Roman wasn't the 'leaping' kind. "And rest assured that, if I planned on doing anything, I had an entire hour and a half while you were with Seth to carry it out. And look - still here."

Finally, Roman was convinced. "And it better be that way when I come back."

Roman didn't have much to say after that. It was a little chilly outside, so he took a jacket. Afterwards, he left without a sound. Dean rolled his eyes. Roman had never been one for pleasantries, such as 'hello' or 'goodbye'. No, that would be too commonplace, too formal. He preferred to slip under the radar, to come in and out of someone's consciousness without them knowing otherwise. Dean could respect that. It was part of what made him such a perfect muscle-man for the Shield. However, it could also be disconcerting at times.

Normally, Dean would have been set at ease by the fact that Roman had even bothered to stop by at all. The unorthodox form of comfort had even caused him to relax... somewhat. It still felt as if an iron poker had been stabbed into his rib cage, but that feeling would soon subside. It was nothing to worry about, anyhow. Dean knew that a broken or bruised rib felt much worse. He also knew that Roman would never hit hard enough to do any permanent damage. But at the same time, it did little to quell the stabbing ache in his chest.

Seth was his entire world, and right now, his 'entire world' was calling for his _death_. There were no words to describe just how much that killed him inside. Like Seth and Roman, Dean also had his own backstory. He had entertained several relationships before finally accepting that he was gay. Many of these relationships had, in fact, been abusive. The power had predominantly been in the woman's hands, and she took full advantage of it... right up until the restraining order. Seven of them, to be exact. For seven _very_ special little ladies. So, to say that it took a lot of trust to let Roman do that... well...

Dean never really knew what love was. He was used to being pushed around by those he 'cared about', and thus associating this care with the love that was supposed to follow suit. However, it never did. Constantly, Dean was surrounded by one-sided relationships. That was why the Shield had been so different. Three very different men coming together for a common purpose, with no ulterior motives, no egos, _nothing_. They were the perfect faction. Until one idiot came in and wrote a few letters and blew it all to shit... Yeah, where was the 'perfection' now?

* * *

"How is he, doctor?" Chris asked worriedly.

"Stable." The doctor answered in his grave, deep voice. "The match tonight was a mistake. It won't cost him his life, thankfully, but it'll put him on the bench for a few weeks. He tore his stitches and sustained moderate swelling, as well as internal bleeding and bruised organs."

"Can I assume that all of this was repaired in the operation?" Chris asked, his voice weak.

"It was repaired to the best of our ability, yes. Some of the healing will have to be done naturally, however." He answered.

Chris didn't like that answer. 'To the best of our ability' sounded like there was something more that could be done, but they just hadn't tried. "May I go in and see him, then?"

The doctor looked through the glass window, which showed a clear view of Phil's bed. "Yes, you may. He's unconscious now, and I'd like to try and keep him that way for another twenty-four hours. On the off chance that he does wake up, phone for the nurse."

"Okay." Chris nodded dutifully, before he stepped into the room.

Immediately, he was overwhelmed by the stark amount of white that surrounded him. It stood in stark contrast to the blood that still stained his clothes. That had earned him a few odd looks out front - one woman had even asked if he needed a gurney - but he paid them no mind. Phil was his number one priority and he couldn't take the risk that in the time it took him to change, Phil could lose his life. So he had come dressed as he was. When he had arrived, Phil was being prepped for surgery. That was over five hours ago, now. And Chris hadn't had a wink of sleep.

Now, Chris stared down at Phil's battered body. He looked absolutely _awful_. The dark circles around his eyes were even more pronounced, and the skin of his face had turned a ghastly white. There were several smaller wounds were the doctors had had to do microscopic surgery as well. His arms lay weakly over the plain white sheet, one ghastly white arm stretched out over the blanket, showing a needle that had been inserted into the tiniest vein possible. That must've been an absolute nightmare to get in. Chris could only imagine how it would feel coming back out.

Quickly, Chris claimed the seat beside Phil's bed. He never allowed his eyes to leave Phil's unconscious frame, as if thinking that he would suddenly wake up, spring out of bed, and leave before Chris had the chance to sit down. It was a silly fear and he knew it, but everything had been so scary for him ever since he had awoken that night to find that Phil wasn't in bed with him anymore. It was absolutely terrible, thinking that the one that you loved, the one that you had always promised to protect, had gotten shot because you were sleeping and didn't know that they were gone.

"Oh, Philly." Chris didn't notice the tears were falling until it was too late, and by that time, he just didn't care.

* * *

Dean awoke to a shadow hovering above the bed. It brought with it the faint scent of blood and sweat, which were both very familiar to Dean. Slowly, he allowed his eyes to flutter open. A dim, distant feeling of confusion and dread washed over him as he realized that all of the lights had gone out. That was strange. He could've sworn that the lights were on when Roman had left, and he had made no move to turn them off before he had sacked out. That could only mean that... A flicker of moon shimmered through the part in the curtains, revealing the shiny silver edge of a freshly sharpened blade.

"You should've locked the door."


	26. The Truth

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, BDSM Punishment, etc.

* * *

**One Hour Later**

When Dean finally came around, his chest felt as if someone had beaten it with a Louisville Slugger and both of his arms felt weighted down by an invisible weight. Gingerly, he attempted to move first his right arm, then his left, but neither would move more than a few centimeters in either direction. Not knowing what to think or whether or not he should be afraid, he then tried his legs. Thankfully, they moved. When his vision was finally fully restored, he noticed with a sharp pang of relief that he was still fully clothed. So, he attacker hadn't done anything _too_ terrible... yet.

Slowly, Dean allowed his eyes to flicker about the room, thankful that his vision had now been fully restored and that someone (probably his attacker) had finally turned on the lights. There was just something about the dark that made everything a little scarier. If he could _see _his attacker, look him straight in the eye... well, that would at least be some consolation to Dean. He shifted a bit, trying to make himself more comfortable, but immediately stopped when a horrific burning sensation tore up the right side of his chest. A broken rib, no doubt. That was just _wonderful_.

Dean allowed his eyes to fall closed and swallowed hard. His throat was raw and hurting, most likely swollen and red, and it took all of his willpower not to start coughing and re-aggravate his broken rib. After all, wasn't that what his attacker wanted? He wanted Dean incapacitated, unable to defend himself, and _then_ and only _then_ would he make his move. Dean only re-opened his eyes when a large hand slammed down on the wall, and Dean started, turning to his side with some difficulty to see Ryback grinning at him with that maniac grin. His eyes were absolutely detached.

"Oh, how nice of you to rejoin the land of the living, Dean." Ryback said. He came closer to the bed, frowning when Dean defiantly turned his head from him. "Now, Dean, you know that that won't do. And after I went through all that trouble to get you a glass of water to help your throat."

Dean felt like he was about to be sick. Was this how Seth felt when he was trapped with this monster for... how long? Dean didn't know and Seth didn't seem like he was about to tell. "I don't want any of your damn water." Dean rasped out.

"Pity." Ryback shrugged, before he promptly turned the glass over and splashed the icy water all over Dean's face.

Dean spluttered, caught between fending off the burning sensation in his eyes and spitting out the water that had managed to make it down his throat. The more he coughed, the more his arms pulled on those invisible bonds and sent painful sparks up and down his entire body. Ryback, uncaring, took him by the hair and pulled him forward. He smacked him harshly on the back, causing Dean to scream out in pain. His arms were crying 'uncle', and he could feel his left shoulder pop out of its socket. Once Ryback was sure that he wasn't choking, he let him fall back onto the pillow.

"Can't have you die on me." Ryback said with a sickly smile.

"Why not?" Dean asked. His eyes were narrow, filled with an unbelievable amount of pain. "Everyone else wants me dead, so why don't you just do everyone a favor and finish me off now?"

Ryback shrugged, climbing onto the bed and placing one knee on either of Dean's legs. Dean sucked in a harsh breath, but refused to grant the madman any sign of pain. "I've never been one to do what everyone else wants or expects me to, you know?"

Dean scowled, trying to reach out and scratch the cocky bastard, being unable to do so. "What the hell do you want with me?"

Ryback blinked, and then let out a startled little chuckle. "What do I want with _you_? You flatter yourself, Dean."

"Obviously you want _something_ from me, otherwise you wouldn't have me incapacitated on my bed." Dean mumbled.

Ryback shook his head. "Even if I told you the truth, you wouldn't believe me." Dean gave him a look that said 'try me'. The monster shrugged. "You're all a means to an end, don't you see it? If I wanted you or Roman, I would have taken you from the beginning. I _want_ Seth."

Once again, Dean started to struggle. Once again, he immediately regretted it. "If you even _think_ about touching him again, I'll kill you."

"I thought that _he_ was the one that wanted _you_ dead?" Ryback smirked, loving the way that Dean flinched as if he had been struck. "And he was mine before either of you even came into the picture. He's my submissive, _not _yours."

Dean was about to tell him off, to hell with the consequences, but Ryback cut him off. He started to weave an elaborate story about when he had first met Seth, when Seth was still a rookie on NXT, and how that had been when he first laid claim to the then-brunette. It had been quick and dirty in the bathroom stall, but Seth had loved every minute of it - after all, Seth was a dirty slut that didn't deserve anything better anyhow. Dean struggled against his bonds, ready to absolutely destroy the bastard. But every time he tried, the pain seemed to increase tenfold.

He claimed that they were in love, but Dean couldn't believe it. But then again, it had taken Seth so long to admit that he loved _them_... and when he thought about it like that, it didn't seem so far-fetched. He closed his eyes, squeezed them hard, but even in the blackness when he didn't have to look at Ryback, he could see what Ryback must've done to Seth. And Ryback's voice continued to drone on in the distance, summoning Dean back to the world of the living. He told him about the letters. He told him, in excruciating detail, about what he did to Seth. And then, what he did to Roman.

"...Seth will always come back to me. You and that beast, Roman... you mean _nothing_ to him." Ryback said.

Dean met his eyes easily. "If you're so sure that we mean nothing to him, why did you attack Roman and then do this to me?"

Ryback looked over him with the air of a man who was proud of what he had done. Dean felt sick. "Why? Oh, that's a simple answer, Dean-O. I'm surprised someone as _simple_ as you couldn't figure it out." Ryback smirked. "Punishment."

Dean scowled. "Seth hasn't done anything wrong. A good master doesn't punish their pet for not doing anything wrong." The bitter words dropped from his mouth before he could really think them through. "You shouldn't be punishing him."

"Oh, doll, who said that I was punishing _him_? I'm punishing _you._" And then the lights went out.

* * *

Roman frowned. He leaned against the far wall in the elevator, trying to block out the memories of Seth at the hospital. It hadn't been a pleasant experience to say the least. Seth had been an incoherent mess for most of the time and the doctors had asked all sorts of questions. Questions that Roman didn't really want to answer. Most of which had to do with Seth's injury, but a few that had to do with their _sex life_. Last time he checked, all Seth's parts were in perfect working order and that most certainly _was not_ the reason they were in the hospital ER. It had been embarrassing and uncomfortable to say the least.

The elevator doors opened with an audible _creak _and Roman stumbled out, just wanting to get inside of his hotel room and go to bed. That bed had never looked more inviting, whether it was full or not. Roman walked down the hallway, distantly remembering that their hotel room was at the far end of the hallway. Under ordinary circumstances, he never would have noticed the streak of red (was that blood?) that dotted the wall. But these last few weeks had been far from ordinary. And he distantly remembered beating up Ryback, bloodying him, and that he would be staying in the same hotel as the two remaining Shield members...

Roman started to run before he even realized that he needed to. He skidded to a halt in front of the door to their hotel room, noticing with a small degree of fear that the door was standing open, swinging loosely on busted-up hinges. Whoever had broken in had _really_ wanted to make sure that that door would open. Slowly, he entered the room, running his key-card over the sensor on the wall and waiting a few painfully slow seconds for the lights to come up. What he saw made his heart leap up into his chest. Dean, with a shirt haphazardly stuffed into his mouth, minus his pajama bottoms, about to be attacked by Ryback.

He didn't think, he _just acted_. And what happened after that, well...


	27. A Taste of His Own Medicine

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, BDSM Punishment, etc.

* * *

Red bled before Roman's eyes. He didn't even realize he was moving - or, rather, didn't _care_ - but he soon found himself face-to-face with the monster. They were within inches of one another, breathing the same air, eyes locked, nostrils flared, fists clenching... it was a dangerous game of chicken, waiting to see who would cave and back down first. It certainly wouldn't be Roman. Dean was moaning on the bed, his body undoubtedly a mass of unimaginable pain. The monster broke the staring contest first, shooting a confident glare in Dean's direction. He would have him soon.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Roman kneed the monster between the legs. He let out a grunt, eyes widening in shock and discomfort, and he doubled-over, holding his genitalia to prevent it from further assault. And that was just fine. Hooking an arm around Ryback's neck, he took him down to the floor. He hit his head on the metal frame beneath the bed, slicing it open and creating a bloody mess. Roman didn't care. Something inside of him had snapped when he saw Dean lying there, totally unable to defend himself. He was going to tear the monster limb from limb.

He took his head and slammed it into the bedframe again. And again. And again. Blood trickled over his hands, but he just didn't care. It was only when Ryback started to struggle against him, called back to full-consciousness by the blood trickling into his eyes, that he faced a real threat. Ryback forced him onto his back - _lying on the sidewalk, blood running onto the concrete, where were his pants? -_ and Ryback bashed his head into the floor. Roman groaned, feeling blood dampen his dark curls. Unwillingly, his body went slack and black briefly flooded his vision.

Dean was screaming behind the shirt now, rattling his handcuffs uncomfortably. Roman sat up, body aching, and landed a swift punch to the bloody side of Ryback's head. At the very least, it was enough to get the big man off of him - _pinning him down, pressing on his aching ribs, no more strength to struggle -_ and they tumbled on the floor again. Stumbling to his feet, Roman leaned on the wall, slamming his foot onto Ryback's ribs. Dean must've tried to struggle before, because the ribs seemed to be a sensitive area, so he continued his assault on that area.

Just then, Ryback grabbed his ankle - _his rib-cage flaring with unbelievable pain, eyes sliding closed as he struggled in vain, and he could feel himself tear_ - and, using that as leverage, he knocked Roman down and had the back of his head hit the windowsill with a resounding _crack_. He groaned, feeling blood bubble in his throat. But he wouldn't stop. Throwing his lower body up into the air at an awkward angle - _he could feel himself tear, blood running down his legs - _he wrapped his legs around Ryback's hips, and twisting his body around, he threw Ryback down onto the floor. All it took was one more strike to the head - and that was it. Ryback was out cold.

Using the bed as leverage, Roman stumbled to his feet. He could feel blood trickling down the back of his neck. "Don't worry, Dean. I'll take this," he ripped the shirt out of Dean's mouth, "And I'll find the keys to those handcuffs sooner or later."

"You know, it would be just like Ryback to have not brought the keys along. He certainly didn't think that he was going to need to use them." Dean offered meekly.

Roman only rolled his eyes. "Way to be an optimist, Dean." He was back on his knees, searching Ryback's unconscious, bloody body.

Dean struggled to lean forward, wanting to see what Roman was doing. When it hurt too much to hold that position, he fell back against the pillows. "Just be careful, okay? You look like a mess and I'm sure he doesn't look much better - but don't mistake that as weakness and underestimate him."

"I wouldn't be too concerned about that." Roman said distractedly. He raised one of the big, meaty arms in the air, letting it fall back to the ground lifelessly. "He's out cold, man. He'll be lucky if he wakes up before the next millennia."

"You sure you didn't kill him?" Dean asked.

Roman leveled his lover with a glare. "I'm not stupid, Dean. I didn't kill him."

Surprisingly, it wasn't that difficult to find the key. It was on a chain around Ryback's neck. Roman took hold of the chain and yanked it off easily, using his foot to shove Ryback's body aside, before climbing back onto the bed and meeting Dean's eyes for the first time. For almost being the victim of a vicious sexual attack, Dean _seemed_, for the most part, relatively calm. But Roman knew it was only a façade. Dean, like everyone else, had his tells. He was avoiding Roman's eyes and digging his nails into his hands. Roman knew that he was absolutely traumatized.

Quickly, he unlocked the cuffs and stuffed the key into his pocket. Reaching off of the bed, he found Dean's clothes and handed them to him, before instructing him to clean himself up in the bathroom. Dean didn't hesitate. Once the door to the bathroom closed, Roman set to work. Lifting Ryback's unconscious body onto the bed, he closed the handcuffs around Ryback's wrists and ankles. And then, taking a tie out of Dean's suitcase, he stuffed it into Ryback's mouth and tied it behind his bed. For once, Ryback would be on the wrong end of his torture. He wondered how it would feel to wake up on the _other_ side of the handcuffs.

Dean came out of the bathroom, dressed in a loose pair of pajamas. His eyes widened when he saw Ryback handcuffed down onto the bed. "Do I even want to know?"

Roman only shook his head. "No, not really. Now c'mon, we're not staying here." Dean tilted his head to the side, obviously confused. "I'm taking you to see Seth. I think I need to have my head looked out and you two really need to talk. Besides, it'll be safe there."

Dean messed with the frayed end of his pajama shirt slowly. "What would we even talk about?" He asked softly.

"Everything."


	28. A Gentle Kiss

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, BDSM Punishment, etc.

* * *

Seth lay, immobile, on the hospital bed. He was absently picking away at his heavily wrapped wrist, enjoying the way that the gauze frayed beneath his careful ministrations. He hadn't had any visitors since Roman had come by earlier, which he was thankful for. He didn't think that he could bear to watch as people fawned over him, fussing over his wounds, asking how he got them - he had enough of that from the nurses. No, he would much rather lay there, replaying his last encounter with Ryback over and over in his head. That dark past that he so feared would come to light...

There was a knock on the door. Seth sighed, letting his wounded arm fall down onto the bed. It wouldn't do to have one of the nurses see him pick at it. Turning his head in the general direction of the door, he called, "Come in!"

His favorite nurse, a bubbly red-head, entered in. There was someone with her, who followed close behind. "Mr. Rollins, how are you feeling?" She asked, smiling. He assured her that he was fine. "That's good. I'm just here to give you your morphine, check your vitals... oh, and you have a visitor!"

Seth's look turned uncertain. "I do?" She nodded enthusiastically. "Who is it?" This time, his tone was distrustful.

For the first time, Dean made his presence known. Seth's breath caught in his throat, and not in a good way. "It's me, Seth."

"I thought that I told you to go die in a hole?" Seth asked, lethal malice dripping from his voice. "I don't want you here. Get out!"

Dean swallowed hard, nodding. "I understand. You have every right to not want me here." He allowed. "I just want to let you know that I know what happened... and Roman made sure that it will never happen again. And I just wanted to say that... I'm sorry."

Seth narrowed his eyes. "You think you can say 'I'm sorry' and everything will magically just get better?"

"No, I don't. I just figured I'd offer it, for what it was worth, and let you know that I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it." Dean said.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other. No words needed to be said, as it was all communicated through their eyes. Finally, after several seconds, Dean looked away. It wasn't before Seth caught the slightest hint of tears in his already red-rimmed eyes, however. The dominant personality rose from his chair, offering Seth a weak smile and patting his boy on the shoulder - he wouldn't overstay his welcome, and it was clear that he had never been welcome there. But when he stared to make his way toward the door, Seth, frantic, reached out and grabbed his wrist. Dean hissed, feeling Seth's fingers clamp down on the imprints from the handcuffs.

"How do you..." Seth looked down, feeling tears come to his own eyes, unbidden. "How do you know what he did to me?"

Dean sighed. "Back at WrestleMania, the only reason that we found you was because Roman cornered Ryback and practically killed him in the parking lot. The only reason he was still alive is because he said he knew where you were... and that was when he confessed what he did to you."

The tears started to fall down his cheeks now. "I didn't... I didn't..." he let go of Dean's wrist, and his hand fell, "I was... scared, so scared... I didn't know... It was him... At least... Not at first. And I was... Scared to tell you."

Calm green eyes met Seth's teary brown ones. "Why were you afraid, Seth? Were you afraid of _us?" _He asked.

"I was afraid... of what you would think of me." Seth confessed breathlessly, teary-eyed.

"Why would we think any less of you, Seth? It's not like its your fault, what happened."

Seth only shook his head, sucking in a harsh breath. "No... not that. Because... he'd raped me before."

Dean could see how much strength it had taken Seth to say that. But it took him even more to continue on with the story, explaining how they had met at OVW. Seth had just begun exploring his sexuality - sure, he had always known that he was gay, but he was experimenting with what would soon become second-nature to him: submission. Above all, Seth loved to have someone take care of him, to take a firm hand to him when needed, to _love_ him. Ryback had watched from a distance, his desire for Seth growing inside of him until it burst and he decided to take it upon himself to show Seth just how good of a _master_ he could be.

Seth swallowed hard, recalling how Ryback had cornered him in the locker room. He'd duct-taped Seth's mouth closed, before messily tying a tank-top over Seth's eyes. He could remember being brutally tossed over one of the slippery shower benches. Already naked, Ryback had then taken it upon himself to duct-tape Seth's wrists to the legs of the bench, which were bolted to the floor. All thoughts of struggling were in vain, and all thoughts of screaming for help were futile. Ryback had raped him, and then he had left him there. Afterward, he had simply left... just like everyone else. He'd finally been found by the janitor the next morning.

"I never told anyone." Seth concluded softly. "Until now. I was always afraid that... that they'd think I didn't fight hard enough. That I should have tried harder. And I was afraid that..." he looked up at Dean, practically sobbing now, "You and Roman would think the same."

Dean's eyes widened. "No. No, baby, no." Immediately, he took hold of Seth, pulling him to his chest. "How could we ever blame that on you?"

"I should have known that it was him!" Seth sobbed, tears wetting Dean's pajama shirt.

"It's not your fault, Seth. He's mentally unstable and acting irrationally. He could've been anybody, with how many enemies we have. It was best not to make any assumptions." Dean assured him, softly shushing him. "It's not your fault."

"And you..." Seth looked at the handcuff imprints on Dean's wrists. "Oh God, he hurt you!"

Dean shook his head. "No, he didn't. Don't worry about it."

"Don't lie to me." Seth said, trying to look fierce and failing miserably at it. "I want the truth, Dean."

Dean sighed. "It's nothing, Seth." But Seth wouldn't have it, so Dean continued, "After Roman came to see you, I fell asleep for a little while. When I woke up, he had gotten into the hotel room and had handcuffed me down to the bed. He had my pants off and was about to... well, you know... and then Roman came back."

"Oh, God! He almost hurt you and it's all my fault!" Seth started to sob again.

Dean only shook his head, gently caressing Seth's soft, silky hair. He whispered sweet nothings to his pretty boy, planting soft kisses over Seth's face and hair. "It's not your fault, Sethie. Don't say that. It's not your fault."

"I'm sorry that I... that I told you... I wanted you dead."

"It's okay, baby. Shh... It's okay. Just forget about it, okay? It doesn't matter anymore."

Seth was still absolutely beside himself, piecing the story together without Dean really having to tell him. He was sobbing into Dean's chest, tears streaking messily down his face and soaking into Dean's shirt. Dean continued to whisper sweet nothings to his boy, rocking him back and forth - always, always wary of that bloody wound on Seth's wrist. Finally, Dean drew back, closing the distance between their faces and locking their lips in a gentle, intimate kiss. Seth's fingers knotted into Dean's hair, pulling him closer. And when they both were at a loss for air, Dean drew back and whispered 'I love you'. Seth only smiled, and then he kissed him again.


	29. Accept the Unacceptable

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, BDSM Punishment, etc.

* * *

Over the next half-hour, Dean simply held a still emotionally compromised Seth close to him, rocking them back and forth and planting soft kisses on his tousled head. Seth, who was absolutely beside himself with angst over what had happened to Dean, wanted to know absolutely _everything_ - from Roman's breakdown in the locker room to Dean getting handcuffed to the bed by Ryback. Dean was hesitant. Given Seth's current condition, he wasn't sure if that much information was healthy for the boy's psyche. But when Seth wouldn't back down, he finally relented.

It was difficult for him to recount those times. As a dominant personality in a three-way relationship, he _never_ wanted to put that much pressure on his submissive at one time - especially when he was in such a fragile state. But not only that... he _also_ didn't like to reopen barely-healed wounds. Watching Roman fall to pieces on that bathroom floor and become utterly unresponsive to all methods of communication had nearly broken him. But Seth wanted, no, Seth _needed_ to know these things. After all, the road to recovery was painful and, at some points, even scary.

So he told him. He left out a few details (not for lack of wanting to tell them to Seth, but for realizing that they weren't his story to tell) here and there, but the basic story remained true-to-life. He reminded Seth of the nasty beating that Roman had taken to his ribs and face after near back-to-back encounters with Big Show and Sheamus. Dean had managed to track Roman down to the bathroom, and, in an attempt to comfort him, they had had sex. But only on the condition that Dean would cause Roman bodily harm while doing so. Seth started to cry again.

"I'm sorry." He sniffled, apologizing for crying so often. Dean only shook his head, silently forgiving him, and wiping the tears away from the submissive's eyes. "I should have known that he was hurt, I should have done something..." he trailed off uselessly.

Dean kissed his temple softly. "Seth, you were preoccupied with _staying alive_. Honestly, I don't think that Roman blames you. He'd much rather have you alive right now, then to find you dead because you were fussing over him. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"That night... when I came to see you in the hospital... after you cut yourself... do you remember that?" Seth looked up at him innocently, not trying to reopen old wounds, but only make a point. "I was looking for him, and the doctors called, and I just... I just stopped."

Kisses landed all over his face. Salty tears chased over plump pink lips, and Dean tasted Seth's sadness. "Don't worry about it."

"What if he was out there, Dean? What if he was bleeding to death and I just stopped looking for him?" Seth cried, his eyes lost.

Dean continued to chase away the fears that lingered in Seth's mind. "But he _wasn't _bleeding to death, and he didn't die. He's fine, Seth. Just fine."

"But he could have!" And then, his brown eyes widened, suddenly filling with even more tears. "And, oh God, Philly!"

Confused, Dean pulled back a little bit - or, at least, he tried to. Seth latched onto him, almost falling off of the bed in the process. "What about Phil?"

"I was..." Seth was so tense, and he sounded on the brink of hyperventilation. Dean rubbed his back comfortingly. "I was running from Ryback, and he had a gun... oh God, he shot him! There was so much blood... and I just _froze_... I couldn't do anything for him! I didn't help him, Dean. I didn't do anything!"

"Shh... C'mon, Sethie. Take a deep breath, now. And another. Another. C'mon - the nurse will make me leave if you hyperventilate." That seemed to knock Seth out of his stupor, and he started to breathe semi-normally again. "And what happened to Phil, it's not your fault either. You didn't know he'd be there, or that there was a gun."

"I should have done something." Seth whispered, feeling decidedly weaker.

Dean stared into his eyes, feeling suddenly helpless. "Sometimes, you just have to accept that there was nothing you could do."

Dean didn't think that he had ever seen Seth cry this much, and he decided that he would _never_ let him cry this much in the future. It didn't suit the pretty boy. He thought back to what he had told him about Ryback duct-taping him to the shower bench and taking his innocence away from him, and having to wait until the janitor came the next morning to finally be free. He must've hurt so badly - but whether it was the pain from the rape or the shame that he felt, Dean was certain he would never know. It brought an entirely different light on his attempted suicide in that shower stall.

That notion made him pull Seth a little bit closer to him. Seth came willingly, wiping his tears on Dean's shirt once again. Dean couldn't care less. He could feel his boy come undone beneath him, the tears coming to a standstill, but his heart still broken and his mind still filled with so much confusion. Dean understood that by asking Seth to accept that it wasn't his fault, he was essentially asking him to accept the unacceptable. Seth would _always_ feel as if there was something else that he could have done, even if it wasn't true. Just like Dean - and eventually Roman - would wish that they could be there to save Seth the first time.

Dean sucked in a harsh breath. "You shouldn't be this upset over not protecting us, Seth. You are _our_ submissive, and we weren't there for you when you needed us. _We _were the ones that failed you, not the other way around." Came the weak confession.

Seth sniffled, offering a weak smile. "I can't believe that I ever believed you two didn't love me."

A moment of silence passed, before Dean reached forward, taking Seth's face in his hands. He lifted the two-toned man's face until they could look into each other's eyes. "Do you trust me, Seth?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

A look of confusion, then pain, crossed over the two-toned man's face. "How could you even ask something like that? Of _course_ I trust you."

Still staring into Seth's mesmerizing brown eyes, Dean said, "Then I need you to do something for me."

"Anything." He readily replied.

"I'm going to kiss you." Dean said, casually lowering his eyes to Seth's plump, pink lips. "And when I do, I want you to think of everything that Ryback ever did to you, think of all the abuse that you endured, and give it to me. Bite me, claw at me, punch me, kick me - whatever. Just give it to me, like I was him. Do you understand?"

"I don't want to hurt you." Seth confessed weakly.

"I'll ask you one more time, Seth. Do you trust me?"

Seth looked at him uncertainly, before finally closing the distance between them and kissing Dean with all of the force he could muster. Suddenly, images of Ryback came to the forefront of his mind, uninvited. And then, it wasn't Dean kissing him, but Ryback. He started to fight, taking his nails to the side of Dean's face and drawing dark beads of blood to the surface. He punched him in the shoulder (from the satisfying crack that followed, clearly dislocating it). Dean was groaning now, but that didn't stop Seth. He drew back, punching Dean in his left eye. It started to swell almost immediately. And then, like magic, the spell was broken.

Dean leaned over and spit out a mouthful of blood - most likely coming from his tongue, which Seth had tried to cut in half with his teeth. "Feel better now?" He asked weakly, obviously not expecting such vicious force from his smaller lover.

"Actually, yes." Seth's eyes seemed a little brighter and he seemed a bit perkier too. "Much, much better."

Dean forced a small smile, but it was bloody. "Good."

* * *

Phil turned tired, olivine eyes onto his lover. He'd been awake for somewhere near a half-hour now, but he'd enjoyed watching his lover slumber so peacefully beside him. But now, he felt it was time to wake him up, "Chris?"

Chris stirred only slightly, muttering a slight, "Hmm..."

Phil smiled, weakly raising an arm to ruffle Chris' hair. "Chris, love? It's time to wake up, baby." He said.

Chris' eyes snapped open, instantly recognizing that voice. "Phil!" Phil was snickering, enjoying the way that Chris' hair flew in every direction. But Chris didn't care. Instantly, he closed the distance between them, kissing the newly awake patient for all he was worth.

The nurse, who was waiting to check Phil's vitals on the other side of the hospital curtain, only smiled and drew the curtain closed - they deserved a few minutes of privacy.


	30. Roman Returns

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

Roman flinched, feeling invasive fingers skirt along his overly-sensitive scalp. The cool brush of metal against his head was not entirely comfortable, the burning sensation aroused from the wooden splinters being painfully plucked from his head was ten-times worse. He was starting to regret his decision to come to the ER. Not only was he incredibly uncomfortable (with no pain meds, of course), his PA was a ditz.

"You must've taken a real chunk out of that bedframe, huh?" The PA chuckled, as if her hands weren't covered in his blood and thick oak splinters. "Your head looks like a war-zone."

Roman groaned. They'd already tested him for a concussion – it had come back negative, thankfully – but her voice was giving him an impressive headache. "Thanks."

She patted his shoulder. "Think of it this way. It could be worse. You could have serious brain damage."

"Yeah. I guess I got off easily." Dark eyes narrowed, knowing that to be one-hundred percent false.

"Well, this seems to be the last one." _Plink_. The last wooden shard fell into the dish at Roman's side. "I'll just clean out the wounds and stitch up your head, and then you'll sign some papers and be free to go."

_"Finally,"_ he breathed a sigh of relief, allowing his eyes to fall closed.

The nurse that was assisting his PA wheeled the cart with the wooden splinters off, before returning with a kit to stitch Roman's wounds. Roman watched as the PA made her way over to the trashcan, rid herself of her gloves, and washed her hands. She was humming an unfamiliar tune beneath her breath, probably trying to pass the time while still adhering to the rules regarding hand-washing in the hospital.

At that point, Roman allowed his mind to wander. If he focused on the task at hand, he was fairly certain he'd go out of his mind from sheer boredom. He wondered how Dean was faring with Seth. Vivid images of Seth attempting to murder Dean with a hypodermic needle. The sheer ridiculousness of it almost made him laugh, but that would be a bad idea, considering the klutz had a needle in his head.

The sound of scissors neatly clipping thread met his ears, and the PA set all of her utensils down. "How does that feel, Mr. Reigns? Good? Bad? Really bad?"

"Actually, I can't really feel anything right now." This, he imagined, was a very good thing.

"Good." She rolled off her second pair of gloves. "That means the topical ointment is working. It should continue to numb the area for another half-hour or so. When that wares off, take this."

Roman looked at the prescription uncertainly. "What is it?"

"It's 600mgs of Ibuprofen. The strength can only come through prescription, but it doesn't have any of the nasty side-effects of narcotics." She handed him a bottle. "Take this in a half-hour, and then fill the script."

Roman's entire body was aching, and he doubted the medicine would do anything, but he said, "Thanks."

The PA only smiled and went off to file all of the appropriate paperwork. Roman tried hard not to dwell on the fact that he hadn't seen the physician that she should have been working under. When she returned moments later with his release papers, he signed quickly and messily on the dotted line. He shook her hand, and then he was released from the ER.

* * *

There was a knock on the door, startling Dean out of his nearly-unconscious state. Shifting a little, he turned toward the door and yelled, "Come in, it's open!"

Roman stepped inside, looking incredibly relieved. "Sorry that it took me so long to get here. I honestly didn't think that it would take that long down in the ER."

"It's been five hours." Dean said, eyes narrowed in disbelief. "What all did they do to you down there?"

"The customary test for a concussion. Came back negative, by the way. Had to have my legs x-rayed. A not-so-quick cat-scan of the head revealed no damage. Oh, and I had twenty splinters in my head, too."

"That sounds wonderful." Dean chuckled softly.

Roman motioned to Seth. "How did it go between the two of you?"

A soft, wary smile came over the dominant blond's face. "Pretty well. Both of us are still alive, so…"

"Yeah, I figured I would've heard about a double-murder down in the ER. After the first three hours or so, I figured it was safe to assume he was listening to what you had to say." Roman said.

After a moment of silence, Dean returned to his earlier ministrations. Carefully, he worked his fingers through Seth's tangled, two-toned hair. Seth was practically purring under his careful attention, his head never moving from its place on Dean's chest. From the puffiness around his eyes and the shimmering tracks on his face, Roman could tell that he had cried, and he had cried _recently_.

Pulling a chair over from the other side of the room, Roman took a seat on the other side of the bed. He reached forward, taking hold of Seth's hand – always careful not to aggravate his injured wrist – and gently caressed the skin there. It wasn't an overtly romantic gesture, but then, Roman wasn't really known for PDA. Dean offered Roman a soft smile, trying to keep him thinking positive. In return, he got a grunt.

"Seth was asking about you." Dean confessed, looking down at their Sethie and kissing the crown of his head softly. "He wanted to know… about the locker room incident. Do you remember that?"

From the dark look on Roman's face, it was clear that he remembered it all too well. "How could I forget?"

"I had to tell him. He didn't leave me much choice, Rome." Dean sighed. "And I was breaking down, I guess. It really hurt… when he told me he wanted me dead. I was willing to tell him anything."

"Why are you telling me this?" The question sounded strained, almost pained.

"Because I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry." Now that it was out in the open, Dean looked relieved.

"You're sorry…" he trailed off, confused, "You're sorry about what?"

He continued to rake his fingers through Seth's hair, listening to Seth's heartbeat. "It's not my story to tell, which I why I'm thankful that you're here. Seth'll wake up soon, and he'll want answers."

"Dean -,"

"He _deserves_ answers, after all he's been through. Don't you think?"

"Dean… he's been through a lot. Are you sure that he can handle the truth?" A dark look came over Dean's face, and, despite his strong words, that was all Roman needed to see.

Finally, Dean offered, "I may not be sure whether or not he can handle the truth, but I know that that is what he wants and what he deserves. And I've never been one to deny him anything."

Around this time, Seth started to stir. Groaning softly, he gently pushed off of Dean and straightened up, stretching out his sore muscles. And then, slowly, his eyes came to settle on Roman. At first, it was clear that he didn't believe what his eyes were seeing. But then, a steady stream of tears started to pour from his eyes and he threw himself at Roman.

Roman was barely able to catch the blubbering submissive before Seth squeezed the life out of him, almost afraid that, if he loosened his hold, Roman would disappear – and he couldn't take that. He had already dealt with so much loss, betrayal, anguish, and heartbreak. Right now, all he wanted was for someone to hold him and comfort him. And Roman, though a tad uncomfortable, did just that.

"Thank you." Seth said, sniffling. Roman was rubbing his back, doing his best to make him feel better.

"What are you thanking me for?" Unlike Dean, Roman didn't really have any pet names for Seth. He wasn't fond of PDA and he left all of the terms of endearment to Dean.

"For coming back." Seth confessed meekly. "I didn't think that you would."

Dean shot Roman a knowingly look, causing the ex-football player to sigh. "Seth, we need to talk about something…"


	31. It All Comes Out

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

Seth didn't seem thrilled by Roman's sudden declaration. Slowly, he leaned back on the bed and watched Roman with wide, sad eyes. "We need to talk about something? I know what that means. It means you want to give me some clever, but ultimately transparent, reason for leaving and ending this."

As realization dawned on the two dominants, Dean hurriedly shook his head. "No, Sethie. It's not like that at all. Nobody's going anywhere. Not after all we've been through." He leaned forward, stroking Seth's two-toned hair again. "He just wants to talk about what happened... to him."

Seth seemed incredibly reluctant to believe what it was that Dean was saying, and really, who could blame him? After all that Seth had endured at the hands of that maniac, it was a wonder that he wasn't even more traumatized that he was. But Dean's words had inspired a spark of hope in Seth's dark brown eyes, and he turned those hopeful eyes onto Roman now. Roman was breathing heavily, twisting his hands uncomfortably, but when Seth turned to look at him, he didn't hesitate to meet the smaller man's eyes. He knew that he needed the connection provided by eye-to-eye contact.

Roman sucked in a deep breath. "I was raped."

Both Dean and Seth looked like they had witnessed a murder. "What?" They said in unison, both evidently shocked.

"I was raped." Roman confirmed, his voice a little firmer this time. "It happened the night we had that fight in the locker room. You wanted to help me and I wouldn't have it. I walked back to the hotel room alone because you had the keys, and I ran into... him."

Seth looked like he had tears brewing in his eyes, "Oh my God, Roman... I'm so... so..."

"Sorry?" Roman offered. Seth nodded. "Don't be. It's not like it was your fault."

"That was why..." suddenly, it all seemed to fall into place for Dean. "When we attacked him backstage at WrestleMania, you didn't even know what he had done to Seth. Sure, there was speculation, but... You had your own, personal reason for wanting him hurt."

Roman's look suddenly turned dark. "Oh, I wanted him _much more_ than hurt. I was ready to kill him right there. The only reason that I didn't was because he knew where Seth was... I almost killed him when he tried to attack you, Dean. You don't know how hard it was to not end it then."

"I thought that he killed you... when I saw all that blood, I was so scared... but I never thought that he... that he... _raped_ you."

Roman turned to him, that dark look turning to concern. "You saw the blood?"

The tears finally overflowing, Seth confessed to what had happened on the specific night of Roman's rape. "I was handcuffed to the bed, all alone in the hotel room. He came back, covered in blood... I managed to get free, fought against him... I put two and two together when I saw the note."

"What note?" Roman barely had time to ask before Seth had it out and was handing it over. It read:

_It's unfortunate that it needs to be like this. I can't do this anymore. I can't be like this anymore. I'm the reason that Seth left us, the reason that everyone eventually leaves us. I'm well aware that I'm the only one to blame. And so this is goodbye. I write this in my last moments, hoping that it will get finished before I die. But the flow of blood is a little faster than I had anticipated… and, to be honest, I'm scared._

_If I could say one thing before I die, it's that I still love Seth. I haven't said it enough, I know, and I know that saying it now is much too late to change anything, but…. I don't know. I've never been very good with words. But I do love Seth, and Dean as well. Even in death, nothing will change that. You'll find someone else to take my place. You'll find someone better. There's no reason to mourn the one whose already be forgotten, after all._

Roman crumpled it into a ball in his hands, throwing it into the nearest trashcan. "That's garbage. Absolute garbage." And then, with a sigh, he said, "I was forced to cooperate with him, or else he told me he'd kill you. And I knew that he would. I'm more certain now than ever before."

"But you took care of that for me." Seth said, a hint of adoration toward Roman audible in his voice. "Thank you."

Roman looked down at his hands. "I did it for all of us."

"Roman." Dean gently pushed. The ravenette turned to him, his eyes dark and uncertain. "I can tell... there's still something that you're not telling us. We won't push, but if you're ready to share... we're here to listen."

"We're always here for you." Seth added firmly. The tears steadily leaking from his eyes made him seem incredibly vulnerable.

Roman continued to stare at his hands, as if he could see something that the others couldn't. "He had his own methods for breaking all of us. With me, he used my... less than stellar romantic history against me. When I was a football player, I thought I had my whole life planned out. A kid, a fiancée...'

"Suddenly, out of nowhere, she comes out with the fact that I can't pleasure her in bed. She broke off the engagement and got custody of our daughter. That freak, Ryback, continuously told me that you were better off with someone excellent in bed... like him... while he... raped me."

_The man's blue eyes widened. "Well, y'know, there is the fact that you're still here, listening to me, begging for me to tell you if Seth really hates you." A pause. "I hate to break it to you, Roman… but you're __trash_ to him."

_"This is a little delivery from your personal bitch… or should I say, your former bitch?" The man snickered. "You see, he was very clear in his wishes. And, unlike you, I'm man enough to fulfill them."_

_The man smirked, a nasty look on his face as he took in Roman's bloodied state. "If only little Sethie could see you now. But, of course, he's too busy laying on his back, legs spread out, ready for me to fulfill him."_

Roman closed his eyes, the memory painfully vivid and fresh. Like an open wound filled with salt, it hurt to think about it for too long. Seth, meekly, forced out, "You know that that's not true... right, Roman?"

He opened his eyes once more and Seth could see the truth in them. Yes, Roman knew that Seth was telling him the truth. What reason would he have to lie? Over the years that they had been together, one of the founding blocks of their relationship had _always_ been honesty. Even know, with all that had happened to them, they were willing to lay all of their cards on the table if it meant helping the others to heal. But Seth could tell that Ryback had prayed on wounds which were too fresh, too _new_, and while he could hear and understand that Seth was telling him the truth, it wasn't really sinking in.

So Seth did the only thing that he could think of. Shifting as much as his confining circumstances would allow, he leaned over the side of the bed and laid his head down on Roman's chest. It was an undeniable symbol of submission. At this angle, he couldn't look up and see Roman's face, couldn't look into his eyes... he would have to trust that he knew Roman well enough to know what he was thinking, and to know that he would never hurt him. And Roman, respecting that trust, didn't take advantage of it. Instead, he wrapped one arm around Seth's waist and, with the other, gently combed through Seth's locks as Dean had done before.

A comfortable silence fell over them, then. Even with everything out in the open, it felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off of their shoulders... and they were immensely grateful. That was, of course, until Dean said, "I have a confession to make as well."

Carefully, Seth peeled his face away from Roman's shirt, looking so very tired and sad. It was a pitiful sight. "What is it, Dean?"

"You told me about the first time that Ryback raped you. You said that it was when you both were in OVW, and it had been far from consensual. Ryback told a different story..." he then started to recount the tale.

_ He started to weave an elaborate story about when he had first met Seth, when Seth was still a rookie on NXT, and how that had been when he first laid claim to the then-brunette. It had been quick and dirty in the bathroom stall, but Seth had loved every minute of it - after all, Seth was a dirty slut that didn't deserve anything better anyhow. He claimed that they were in love, but Dean couldn't believe it. He told him about the letters. He told him, in excruciating detail, about what he did to Seth. And then, what he did to Roman._

"You knew that he raped me?" Roman asked, managing to sound confused and infuriated at the same time. "Then why did you sound so surprised earlier?"

"To be honest? I never thought that you would actually admit to it. That was very surprising to me."

"He... told you that?" Seth sounded like he was on the verge of tears again. Dean didn't like to see their baby so upset. "I would n-never... I was with you two when I was on NXT! It happened in OVW, like I said!" He was sobbing again, but desperate to prove his point.

"Shh, baby. We believe you. I swear we do. I just needed to say it, to get everything out in the open." Dean said. "Why don't you get some rest, okay? I'm pretty sure the nurses' are ready to ring our necks for the emotional rollercoaster we've put you on. But we'll be back first thing in the morning, okay?"

Each man kissed Seth, before Seth weakly mumbled, "Okay".

It wasn't until they were out of the hospital room that Roman finally spoke again. Turning to Dean, he offered him a grave look, "I have an idea."


	32. Justice is Served

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

**Extreme Rules Pay-Per-View**

Finally, after another difficult week of tests and yet _another_ operation to ensure that the internal bleeding (which was the cause of his near-death experience in the locker room with Chris after his match at WrestleMania), Chris and Phil sat on the bed in their hotel room, watching the pay-per-view from the safety of the hotel. Chris was cradling his boy close, afraid to take his eyes off of him for even a second. He couldn't take the chance of Phil vanishing again. The last time that had happened, well...

Carefully, Chris reached down and stroked the raised flesh on Phil's belly. The doctor said that there was a good chance the sight of the operation would scar, but he had given them plenty of medications and ointments to try and reduce scarring as much as possible. This was all still so much of a shock to him. As he allowed his fingers to gently glide over the scar, he remembered Phil laying there on the ground, immobile and unconscious. What if he had gotten there a few minutes later? Would Phil have been dead?

Phil sucked in a deep breath, turning and resting his head on Chris' shoulder. "What are you thinking about, Chris?" He asked.

Chris, startled, accidently pressed a little too hard on the scar. Phil flinched, biting down on his lip to keep from crying out in pain. "Oh my God, baby, I'm _so_ sorry. I didn't mean to do that." Frantic, he got off the bed and started to search for something. "Fuck! Where the hell is it?"

Phil, who had already recovered, propped himself up on his elbows and watched Chris with curious eyes. "Where is what?"

"The icy-hot ointment. The doctor said to put that on your stomach if it started to hurt." Chris said matter-of-factly. "But I can't find it."

But Phil reached out, gently grabbing hold of Chris' wrist. "I'm fine, Chris. Really. You just caught me by surprise, that's all. It doesn't even hurt anymore." He patted the open side of the bed beside him. "C'mon, Roman and Seth have their tag-team match up next."

"I wouldn't get so excited about it." Chris said, hesitantly reclaiming his seat and putting one arm around Phil's shoulders. "They've been kind of out of sync, lately. I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to pin _each other_."

"You'd be surprised. The Shield has an undeniable connection, even if they don't get along in their personal lives. Personal chemistry is much different than wrestling chemistry, and I haven't seen chemistry like _there's_ in a long time."

The Shield's music hit. The announcer introduced the two men that would be fighting for the tag-team titles. Dean was coming down to the ring with them, but he wouldn't be staying. He had his own match to prepare for later on in the night. Roman went over the barricade first, and paused, then turned to help Seth over. Both Phil and Chris stared at the screen in blatant shock. While it was clear that Seth didn't need any help getting over the barricade (he'd done so countless times before on his own), Roman's gesture was oddly... romantic.

* * *

The match had been every bit as brutal and vicious as the WWE Universe had expected it to be. After all, anything less simply wouldn't have leant itself to the hype of a Tornado Tag-Team Match. Both sides had brought their A-game, but, in the end, the ever-growing gap between the members of Team Hell No proved to be their downfall. After several miscommunications between the former friends, Seth had managed to isolate Daniel on the outside of the ring and Roman had landed the spear for the win. At the end, they held the tag-team titles high and Justin Roberts declared them the new champions, much to the chagrin of the crowd.

However, it was only when they were finally behind the closed doors of their personal locker room that Seth finally allowed himself to show how _truly_ excited he was. Tossing the belt down onto the nearby leather sofa, he threw his arms around Roman's neck and brought to taller man down for a bruising kiss. Roman's arms locked around Seth's smaller form, drawing him closer whilst simultaneously backing him into the arm of the couch, causing him to tumble over the side and land next to his belt. He bounced for a few seconds, looking oddly puzzled as to how he had arrived there, and then pulled Roman down on top of him.

They remained still for a moment, neither wanting to move and break the perfectly serene moment. None of them were ready to progress beyond kissing, but it was nice to just be able to _hold_ each other and not be afraid someone had something to hide. "We're the tag-team champions." Seth whispered reverently.

Roman kissed Seth again, but his touch was surprisingly softer than Seth's. It was almost as if he was afraid to cause more harm to the boy. "Yeah." He smirked, "The _unified_ tag-team champions. Not like the crap that those two bozos tried to pull off."

Seth smirked. "You know, once you get past the gruff, kinda scary exterior, you're actually pretty funny." He punched Roman's shoulder playfully, causing the bigger man to pull at his hair. "Hey, that isn't fair! You don't see _me_ pulling at _your_ hair, do you?"

"No." Roman shook his head, a dark, lusty look clouding his eyes. "Because you know better than that."

A soft, reverent look came over Seth's face. "You two don't know how happy I am to be back with you. Really."

"You don't have to keep saying it, Seth." He reminded him that this was the third time that week that he'd mentioned it. "We know. Really."

"I was just... I was scared that, one day, maybe what he was saying would come true. Maybe you two didn't care about me at all, maybe I was just some bitch on the side, maybe you never wanted me... I fought so hard against believing it... and now we're all back together again." Seth's said, his voice slowly withering to a whisper.

"It's a lot to take in, I know." Roman said, stroking Seth's hair once more. "But what's happening right now? It's real. So bask in the moment, okay?"

"You're such a sap." Seth grinned cheekily.

"Don't push it."

Quickly, Seth clambered off of the couch, slipping the title belt around his waist. It had been Daniel's belt, and it fit him almost perfectly. Once it was on, he put his hands on his hips and started to strut around the room, making incoherent noises that sounded oddly akin to the sounds that a goat would make. He pulled his hair in front of his face to make it look like a beard and bleated loudly and obnoxiously. And then, batting his eyelashes innocently, he started in on being the 'weak link'. Seth's interpretation of Daniel Bryan had Roman laughing in no time, which had never been an easy feat to accomplish.

Finally, he took Roman's belt - which used to belong to Kane - and slid it over his shoulder. And then, thrusting his hands up into the air like Daniel's annoying gimmick, he shouted 'yes, yes, yes!' while running in circles around the coffee table. Both started laughing again, this time from drawing a similar conclusion that it sounded as if Daniel had been having particularly hot sex with Kane when he came up with that catchphrase... and then they both laughed again. Finally, Seth took his belt off and hoisted both high above his head, chanting 'I'm the tag-team champions! I'm the tag team champions!' More laughter followed.

Seth plopped down onto the couch, handing Roman back his title with a long sigh. "Do you think we'll be like that... when we're the former tag-team champions?"

Roman was silent for a moment, causing Seth to get fidgety, when he leaned in and kissed Seth's cheek. "No. I know we won't be like that."

"How can you be so sure?" Seth asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"Because we've been through too much to break so easily."

* * *

"Chris, what are you doing now?" Phil rolled his eyes as his lover madly searched the room for the little yellow pill bottle that he had gotten from the pharmacy just two nights ago. "Chris, I'm fine. Seriously. I have no reason to lie to you. Just come back to bed, alright?"

But Chris merely shook his head, clearly unconvinced by Phil's words. "I saw you squirming through the entire match and trying to, rather inconspicuously, hold your stomach. I know that you're in pain, Phil. You don't have to actually verbalize it... God gave me two eyes to _see_ it."

Phil closed his eyes, sipping water from his water bottle and all around ignoring what Chris had to say. "You're going to miss the next match."

"I don't care. You're more important than the next match." Chris said absently, still rummaging around through the bags.

"Besides, you're looking through the wrong bag, anyway..." Phil said. "The one you want is at the foot of the bed, brainiac."

"I thought I told you that I don't care -," here, he cut himself off, truly considering Phil's words for a moment. Dropping the bag he was looking through, he made his way around the bed and searched the bag that Phil had mentioned. With a flush of triumph and embarrassment, he let out a cry of triumph. "Ahah!"

"You're such a genius..." Phil rolled his eyes, easily catching the bottle and taking out two small, yellow pills.

"Don't be a smartass, Philly." Chris offered. "Just shush up or else you'll talk right over the next match."

Phil's eyes widened. "Oh, so now it would be _my_ fault if we missed the next match?"

Chris frowned. "Just hush, okay?"

Phil was still grumbling, even as he put both of the pills into his mouth and swallowed them down with yet another swig of water. Noticing that his bottle was almost empty, Chris got him a knew one from the mini-fridge. And then, plopping down on the bed beside him, they watched as the Shield's music hit again. This time, Dean walked ahead of Seth and Roman, who wouldn't be accompanying him all the way down to the ring. If Phil wasn't mistaken, however, it looked as if there was an additional mark on Seth's lower neck... one that looked uncomfortably akin to a hickey. But then Kofi's music hit, and the dramatic focus was taken off of the Shield.

* * *

The match seemed to be over in the blink of an eye. All of a sudden, the bell tolled and Dean was holding the United States Championship over his head. He made a quick exit from the ring, ready to set Roman's plan into motion. While he wasn't exactly one-hundred percent comfortable with it, he knew that he was the only one who could pull it off. After dropping off the title belt with Seth and Roman (he knew that they would take excellent care of it), he made his way into the parking lot area, knowing that Ryback had just arrived. Meanwhile, Seth would be placing a conveniently timed call to CEO Vince McMahon.

Sure enough, Ryback's car pulled up in the parking lot, coming mere centimeters from crashing into Dean. The engine cut. There was a low drone as the door opened, followed by Ryback sliding out from behind the wheel and staring down Dean for all that he was worth. If looks could kill... well, needless to say that Dean wouldn't be with them any longer. Dean sucked in a deep breath and met Ryback's eyes, willing himself to not back down as Ryback approached. The big man dropped his things onto the ground, freeing his hands to clench around Dean's neck. The sheer force of the attack knocked them both to the ground.

Dean started to struggle, Ryback settling between Dean's spread legs and using one hand to pin Dean to the ground, while the other tore at his military-esque vest. Dean was scratching at Ryback's face, drawing thick beads of dark, crimson blood. Once the vest opened, Dean felt his heart hammering madly in his chest and began to feel light-headed. Neither noticed the sound of approaching footsteps - Dean first noticed when two referees pulled Ryback off of him. He was helped to his feet by now less than Vince McMahon, who had seen everything. He looked down, seeing the messy marks on Dean's wrists and the bruises on his neck.

"Call the cops." Vince instructed the refs, taking off his coat and placing it on the younger man's shoulders. "I want him out of here, now. Make sure that they know what he did." He then turned to the medical personnel. "Take him back and make sure that he's okay."

Ryback was screaming at Dean as he was carried away, "I'll _kill_ you for this, you fucking bastard! You hear me? I'll _kill_ you!"

But Dean only smiled. "Justice is served."


	33. A Few Moments, Testimony

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Threesome, Kidnapping, Threats, Possible Non-Con, etc.

* * *

It felt like an eternity until they arrived back at their hotel room, finally away from the scrutinizing eye of the world. It was only when the door closed that Dean felt the full weight of what had just happened (and what _could_ have happened) fall onto his shoulders. Unbidden tears suddenly formed and started the lonely trek down his pale cheeks. If Ryback had driven that car a little further... If Vince had shown up just a few minutes later... If he _hadn't_ shown up _at all_... Dean shuddered to think about it. Shuddering, he forcefully rubbed at his eyes, trying to dry the tears.

Seth and Dean were the only ones in the hotel room at that point. Roman had opted to stay behind - for once, he had chosen to be the vocal one of the group and had offered to give his statement _first_. Immediately after arriving in the hotel room, Seth started to undress, exhausted and ready to go to sleep. But then, he heard a soft sniffle. It was almost inaudible, like the person was trying to hide it. He looked up, flipping his two-toned hair back and out of his eyes. It was at that moment that he came face-to-face with a sobbing Dean. Seth wasn't sure that he'd seen Dean cry before.

"What are you staring at, kid?" Dean tried his very best to sound menacing, but it was rather difficult when you had two streams chasing down your cheeks. "Hurry up and get undressed. I'm exhausted and my back is killing me."

"You're crying, Dean." Seth said matter-of-factly, unable to tear his eyes away from the tears streaming down Dean's face.

Dean huffed exasperatedly. "You think I don't know that? It doesn't matter. And it certainly doesn't change anything. Now hurry up, would ya?"

Seth simply blinked, absolutely mesmerized by the scene in-front of him. "You're crying, Dean."

"What are you, in some kind of trance?" Dean snapped his fingers in-front of the boy's face, trying to get him to snap out of it. The tears were still falling freely, despite Dean wanting otherwise. "I _know_ that I'm crying. And, like I said, it doesn't matter."

Seth moved in, half-naked, and cupped Dean's face in his hands. "Don't cry, Dean."

Quickly, he closed the distance between them, brushing their lips together in a tentative kiss. He'd been attempting to read Dean, see how he would respond to this, but he wasn't sure if he got the signals right (it had been a long time, after all) and he really didn't want to get punched in the face (a very awkward first encounter with Roman). But when Dean hooked his arms around Seth's waist, yanking him closer, Seth knew that he had made the right call. Together, in a haphazard tangle of limbs, they twisted and tumbled toward the bed, falling in a pleasurable heap.

Seth pulled away, anxiously drawing in air and slinking down Dean's body at the same time. Suddenly, Dean looked at him worriedly. "Seth, what are you doing?" Both knew full-well that Seth was nowhere _near_ ready for penetrative sex yet.

Excited fingers fumbled with the button on Dean's pants, flicking it open and then tugging the zipper down with his teeth. He flashed Dean a sultry look. "I know how hard this is. It's hard for me, too. Hell, even laying in the same _bed_ is hard. But I do it, because, eventually, I'll feel better."

Dean's semi-hard cock was exposed to the cool air of the hotel room. "You really don't have to do this, Seth."

"All the more reason for me _to_ do it." Trusting brown eyes locked with Dean's green. "When I was with Ryback, I never had a choice. Whether I followed the 'rules' or not, I'd always get hurt. This," he motioned to them, "is _my_ choice. I know that I can stop... but I don't want to."

"I don't want to hurt you, Seth." He didn't even realize that his tears had now dried.

"You never have," a small, shy smile started to form on Seth's face, "and you never will."

With that said, he leaned forward, taking Dean's hot manhood into his mouth. Dean groaned, the sound low and guttural, before he fisted the sheets, desperate to keep his instinct to buck at bay. Obscenities fell from his mouth as Seth swirled his tongue around the thick rod, dragging it up as he pulled his lips up and over the mushroom-like head, and dipping it into the slit. He could taste the salty-essence of pre-cum as it lazily drizzled from the slit, before he went back down, loosening his throat and taking in all of Dean at once. It took everything both men had to stay relaxed.

Memories of all that that monster had done lurked just beneath the surface, waiting for one of them to cross that red line and ruin _everything_. Seth started to pick up the pace, hollowing out his cheeks and humming low in the back of his throat, jerking what couldn't fit in his mouth with a lube-coated hand. And then, releasing him with a wet _pop_, he slowly drew his thumb nail over the slit, eliciting a shuddering cry from his dominant as he came. Thick ropes of white covered Seth's hand and Dean's nether regions, and Seth was quick to clean it off. He still remembered.

Once they were all clean and Dean had come down from his high, Seth came back and set his head on Dean's shoulder. "Thank you." Dean said.

Brown eyes flickered up, looking at Dean in confusion. "What're you thanking me for?"

Dean sighed, "For not believing the letters... For still wanting to come back to us after all that happened... For still being _you_... I have a lot to thank you for." Dean kissed Seth's forehead. "But most of all, I'm thankful that you finally forgave me."

"I can never stay mad at you for long." Seth assured with a small smile.

"Good." Dean kissed him again, lips lingering a little longer this time. "Now, enough of this sappy shit. Let's watch some TV."

That smile morphed into a smirk. "I like the way you think, Mr. Ambrose."

* * *

Dean was the next to give his statement. Mr. McMahon had called him early in the morning and told him that he needed to come down to the police station. Dean would've argued that it was barely even six and they had just come off of a hard pay-per-view, but he also realized that this might be the only way to get Ryback off of the streets and to keep him from hurting anyone else. So he had left, leaving Seth and Roman - when had Roman gotten back? he certainly hadn't felt the weight shift on the bed - in bed together. He only allowed himself a moment to think of how potentially hazardous that could be, and then he left. He couldn't be late.

Soon enough, Seth attempted to roll over and curl closer into Dean's warmth... only to find that Dean wasn't there. Panicking, and already too-far-over to really stop himself, he tumbled off the side of the bed with a loud _thump_. "Shit!"

Roman awoke with a start, leaning over the side of the bed to stare at the mess that Seth had made. "God, Seth. Could you get any louder at six in the morning?"

And in his still-sleepy haze, Roman looked _a lot_ like the monster that had almost destroyed everything for them. "No... _No!_" If he was in a better state of mind, he would've laughed at how much he sounded like Daniel Bryan. "Get away from me you _freak_!"

Roman tilted his head to the side, confusion and hurt apparent in his dark brown eyes. "Seth, this is _our_ hotel room. I'm not going anywhere."

Apparently not liking that answer, Seth was able to free one arm from the cocoon of blankets and punch Roman in the jaw. Roman, having not expected the attack, almost fell off of the bed on-top of Seth. "Get the fuck out of here, you sick freak!"

"That _hurt_, Seth." Roman growled lowly, nursing his swelling cheek with one big hand. Seth simply continued to stare at him, cowering in fear. Against his better judgment, he reached down and pulled the boy back onto the bed. "I'm not Ryback, Seth. I'm _Roman_. We're nothing alike."

"Please... don't hurt me." Seth was shaking now, tears falling from his eyes and streaking messily down his face.

"I'm not going to hurt you, damn it!" Without realizing it, Roman had started to yell. This only seemed to further upset Seth.

"Please... just _go away_." Seth pleaded, his lower lip trembling.

Roman sighed. If he ever wanted to calm the boy down, he didn't really have much of choice in the matter. Getting off of the bed in a very flashy show of obedience, he grabbed a blanket and a pillow and started out toward the sofa in the main room. He knew that his back would firmly protest his decision, but it was for Seth. Always for Seth. He was fairly certain that, if Dean had asked him to do this, he would've just rolled over and gone back to sleep. But maybe not. Perhaps what they had been through had changed even _that_. Lazily, he tossed the pillow down and crashed on the couch, knowing sleep wouldn't come easily.

**OOOO**

Seth shuffled out of the main bedroom area, the blanket from the bed wrapped around him. He looked at Roman sheepishly, sad eyes staring at the shiner on Roman's cheek. Unfortunately, he remembered every last second of the incident. He could vividly remember how he had punched Roman, thinking that he was Ryback. But he'd been unable to put two-and-two together until he'd sent Roman out to the couch and Roman had willingly obeyed. Ryback wouldn't have left so easily, or at all. And now, he felt a swirling remorse building in his belly.

Knowing what had to be done, he walked into the en-suite kitchen, took out the ice cube tray, and dumped several ice cubes into a dishcloth. He tied it off with one of his hairbands, which was conveniently stored on his right wrist. When he came back into the main section of the hotel room, Roman was still out cold. Slowly, he made his way over to the bigger man, before kneeling down and gently touching the homemade ice-pack to Roman's throbbing cheek. Suddenly, Roman's dark brown eyes fluttered open, and he blinked blearily, before allowing them to settle on Seth's face.

"Seth..? What're you doing? Do you even realize what time it is?" Roman's words were slurred as he was still awakening from his little nap.

"Yeah. It's about eight in the morning." Seth's smile was small and painfully transparent. "I couldn't sleep, and I figured your cheek had to hurt really bad by now, so I come bearing ice." He lifted the ice pack in the air, laughing a little. "And to tell you that I really am sorry about what happened."

Roman sighed. It looked like they were about to have another sappy heart-to-heart. "Look, Seth - it's not your fault. I shouldn't have freaked out like that." Obviously, his words weren't helping, because now the two-toned wrestler looked to be on the brink of tears. "C'mon, Seth, don't cry..."

"B-B-But... I _hurt_ you." With that, the tears started to streak down his face. It was amazing that he still had more tears to cry.

"I'm not the 'comforting' type, Seth." Roman admitted blandly. "If you tell me how to make you feel better, I can help you. But I'm pitching blind right now."

"Just..." Seth sniffled, rubbing at his eyes to try and staunch the flow of tears. "Hold me?" He asked hopefully.

Roman slid over on the couch, allowing Seth just enough room to climb in beside him. The two-toned man still had to hold onto Roman so he wouldn't fall off, and secretly, both kind of liked it that way. Seth leaned most of his weight onto Roman, his arms circling the other man's middle, and he rested his head on Roman's shoulder. Roman, who was still somewhat-lounging on the couch, picked up the fallen ice-pack and placed it back onto his smarting cheek. All that talking certainly hadn't helped his condition, but it had made Seth feel better, so...

"G'night, Roman..." Seth mumbled, already sounding like he was halfway into his dreamland.

"It's not night time anymore, kiddo. It's eight in the morning." Roman said, but there was no malice behind his words.

Seth whacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Just go to sleep, would ya?" And so he did.

* * *

Seth was the last one to give his statement. It was expected that Seth's statement would take the longest, but as Dean nervously looked at the clock, he noticed that it had been almost three hours since Seth had left - RAW had ended twenty minutes earlier. Thanks to Mr. McMahon, the Shield didn't have to make an appearance on RAW that night, so Dean and Roman had simply hung back in their locker room and waited for news about their boy. It was only when yet _another_ hour passed that Roman finally convinced Dean that they could wait it out in their hotel room.

Dean sighed. The hotel bed felt cold and lonely without Seth's body in-between them. Neither Dean or Roman were really into 'cuddling', so there was a considerable distance between their bodies. A space that was meant for Seth. And without the energetic high-flier in-between them, neither was able to sleep. Roman was doing his best to read a book (or so he tried to make it seem to Dean), but had barely conquered a single page in twenty minutes. Dean, on the other hand, was steadfastly counting all of the dots on the ceiling. He'd made it to three-thousand sixty-four when the door opened.

Both men were instantly alert. After all of their encounters with Ryback and how he had broken into both Seth and Dean's hotel rooms, one could never be too careful. But after a moment, the tension fled their bodies and they relaxed back onto the mattress. Seth was approaching the bed like a marathon runner that had just come back from a hundred-mile race. He looked exhausted and his eyes were dark and emotionless. This was not the Seth that they knew and loved. Without bothering to undress (he didn't undress in-front of them yet, either) he plopped down onto the bed in-between them.

"It went that well, huh?" Dean muttered sarcastically.

Seth groaned. "They're charging him with two counts of rape, one count of unlawful imprisonment, one count of attempted murder, one count of unlawful possession of a gun, one count of attempted rape, three counts of stalking, one count of harassment, and one count of aggravated assault and battery."

Roman's eyes widened. "What does all that add up to?"

Seth closed his eyes, attempting (and failing) to relax. "The minimum? Three consecutive life sentences."

"You don't seem too excited." Dean said. "Isn't that _good_ news?"

"It is." Seth agreed, his voice clipped. "What _isn't_ is that we _all_ have to testify at his trial to make all of the charges stick."


End file.
